


Lost and Found

by holmesian_love



Series: Lost and Found [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Car Accident, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Unilock, damaged Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 40,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesian_love/pseuds/holmesian_love
Summary: AU - John Watson, a university student, dealing with amnesia after an accident, begins a new life with his girlfriend Mary at a new university. But having to work alongside an infuriating research assistant starts him on a path to find answers and will change things forever.(Artwork by Anke Eissmann @Khorazir - Chapter 28)
Relationships: John/Mary, Molly/Lestrade, Sherlock/John - Relationship
Series: Lost and Found [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733839
Comments: 222
Kudos: 141
Collections: HolmesCon Writers Collection





	1. My Name is John

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charlottecoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottecoffee/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Perdido y encontrado](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926351) by [lockedin221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221B/pseuds/lockedin221B)



> Hi guys - sorry if you're a subscriber and getting annoying updates! I'm just trying to tweak some little bits - there's no new material!!
> 
> For charlottecoffee - as requested some suffering Sherlock :)

_Blog entry – Who Am I?_

_You never realise how important identity is to you, until you lose it. I used to be someone. I had a name, a life. Now I’m someone else: someone new. I don’t fit in this skin. I know I don’t and yet, I can’t do anything about it._

_Five years ago, there was an accident. An event I have no memory of, with people I can’t name and everything was taken from me. For the first year I tried so hard to remember, to fight for the memories. Eventually it was exhausting, infuriating. The medical professionals couldn’t explain why. Selective amnesia or some rubbish which I gave up trying to understand. It didn’t change the outcome of my day to day reality. It may come back to me. My parents were distressed and sent me to a facility of some kind where I spent time coming to terms with it all. I don’t even remember much of that time. One day, I was free to leave, and I had just…accepted my fate. As simple as that. I was a new person, starting a new life with no idea of how I got there, everything in my brain now a grey cloud, blocking the view._

_I had been at university when the accident happened. So full of youth and promise. Or so my parents say. Now, five years later, all the people I had known had graduated and moved on to lives, some had married I had been told. Not that I remembered any of them really. But my mother loved nattering away over tea about this person and that, even though she knew it meant nothing to me anymore. These people were not even distant memories or shadows in my mind. They were just…gone. I have a girlfriend, a supportive and beautiful girlfriend. I don’t remember the time we had before, but my mother assures me she is a lovely girl and has loved me for years and stayed with me, despite everything and so here we are. Starting fresh. She’s beautiful, and kind and cares for me. She’s nice enough. It’s difficult to feel things for a person you have no past memory of. So I manage it by starting fresh from this time, and she understands that I don’t need her to fill in too many gaps from the past either. It just makes things harder. So we are beginning again and things remain as they are for now._

_Apparently the “old me” had been good at science. I had been aiming to be a doctor. My mother didn’t want me to return to where I had been, so I am starting fresh, at a new university. Amazingly my brain retained some of the science smarts, at least enough that I was able to pass an exam to enter this new university and start over. I don't know how. I don’t even remember my own personality from before, but I know it is a daily struggle to accept the constant fussing from my parents. The feeling that no one trusts me to be alone, or to make decisions for myself. I feel like a child, but at the same time very old and weary. It is an odd juxtaposition and I am excited to be at university where I hope to find some freedom, at least during the day. I’m done living at home with my parents, with them constantly watching me out of the corner of their eyes, like they are waiting for me to break, or have a meltdown. After the treatment, coming home felt comforting at first, but then it became suffocating. It took a long time to convince them to let me move to the college and board._

_But here I am able to just be me. No one knows my past. No one has to know. I am just a man named John. That’s all they need to know. I'm writing a blog to keep track of my thoughts because I don't trust this brain of mine right now. Apparently, I used to write a blog. Before. My parents won't let me see my old files; they think I should start fresh. A new blog. For my new life._


	2. Strange Meetings

“John why are you so nervous? You can barely stop fidgeting,” Mary teased as they walked along the path.

She was right. John’s fingers couldn’t stay still, tapping at his side, fidgeting with his clothes, rubbing against the leg of his jeans, clenching and unclenching. The rough fabric tickling his hand as if it had worn a bald patch into his skin from too much contact.

“Sorry, I’m just …” the word escaped him. It was strange, how when you lost your identity, even the simplest of statements lost their meaning. John had no idea what he was or wasn’t, and so sentences like that always caught him off guard as he realised he didn’t know how to finish the thought.

“I know, first day nerves and all. But you’re smart John. And lovely. You won’t have any trouble. And I’m right here with you. I’m so glad you’re finally at my university where I can keep an eye on you,” Mary said lightly, squeezing his hand in hers.

She was such a big support, always so gentle and kind. John didn’t really know what he had done to deserve her. Many times, he had found himself questioning it. Someone like him, with someone like her. He was a grumpy, confused mess and not even what most would call conventionally attractive. And yet here she was, effortlessly beautiful in a conventional sort of way and loving him. The sunlight of the day bounced off her white blonde curls creating what looked a bit like a halo around her head. As if she needed any more reason to seem more impossibly perfect. John wished he had worn sunglasses, the glare actually hurt his eyes a bit. He blinked and looked away from her. She was always so encouraging but sometimes it felt like she didn’t understand – like she was awkwardly steering John away from talking about his past and trying to pretend everything was normal.

John huffed to himself at her positivity “You won’t be there all the time though, Mary. I mean, we aren’t even doing the same subjects. You’re doing an Arts degree,” he said gently, trying not to let his attempt at lightening the mood sound like an accusation.

“Well okay, but I’ll be working in the café. You can just come and find me right after your meeting and I’ll take my break,” she smiled nervously hoping to reassure him, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. John gave her a weak smile back. He could not settle the nauseous feeling in the bottom of his stomach.

She grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze again in support. She knew all the right things to do to try and put him at ease. John didn’t remember ever being a particularly anxious person – what little he could sense about himself from before. But starting a new day as a new person in a new place was seriously testing his boundaries. After years of being safe and comfortable in familiar environments, with his family around him, this was a big change.

“This is me here, sweetie. You’ll be fine, honestly. Just keep following this path and you’ll end up at the Science department building. Come back here and find me when you’re done. Okay? I’ll keep my phone close in case you get lost.” Her bright and gently encouraging voice grated against him. Somehow it wasn’t reassuring at all today.

She gave John a quick peck on the cheek, chaste and sweet as always, and ran off to the left, leaving him standing alone. Butterflies began again as he let out a deep breath to steel himself, before the walk ahead. As he walked forward, he deliberately observed the pathway, the weeds poking their heads confidently up from the pavers, mocking him somehow for his own incompetence. Every crack in a paver catching his eye.

John’s parents had arranged a meeting with a professor in the science department, Professor Greg Lestrade, to smooth over his arrival. John had no doubt they had over sold his talents or paid someone to allow him to be a part of the faculty. The Watsons weren’t wealthy, but their church had pulled together and helped them with funding for John’s medical bills and treatments. There was a certain amount of pressure to make this work, to make the money they sacrificed worthy of something greater.

He couldn’t still the butterflies starting to flap furiously in his gut as he approached the door to knock. Funny that no matter how old, approaching an office of authority can bring out memories of sitting outside a principal’s office. Even with a brain injury he knew that feeling. It was ingrained in the soul for life. After a few deep breaths, John knocked. The door was not closed properly, and his hand pushed the door forward slightly, spilling him into the room off balance. The room appeared to be empty.

“Yes?” a voice startled him in annoyed response to his entry, as if accepting students at the door would not be part of the tedious day in the life of a professor.

The room, small and a bit too warm with all the windows shutting out the cold weather and the curtains drawn. The effect was jarring after the bright sunlight of the outdoors and John’s eyes took time to adjust to the new light. He looked around, tentatively, trying to find the source of the voice but the desk was empty. There were a few wall mounted old-fashioned lamps that create a yellow glow in the room. The furnishings, all dark mahogany, giving off the vibe of a gentleman’s club. John wondered to himself if that was the intention. The smell of old books and stale air overwhelming, but somehow comforting. Like going to an old relative’s house or returning home after many years and knowing the smell of your childhood home he suspected. John remembered the sensation when coming home from months of therapy. It did nothing to settle the nerves in the pit of his gut right now though.

In the left corner he heard scuffling and mumbling between a set of bookcases lined up like a library to accommodate the ridiculous number of books in a dark corner of the room. He realised the room was deceptively bigger than it appeared and that the noise came from this hidden corner somewhere.

“H … hello? Professor?” John called nervously to the space. I’m …”

“Yes, yes. Busy. What do you want? Make it interesting!” Something about the voice sent a tingle at the back of John’s neck. A deep sensual tone that made him blink a few times as he registered it. Something familiar even in the tone, although of course that wasn’t possible. John realised he’d been standing there far too long without saying anything, the silence only punctuated by the sound of books being roughly grabbed from the shelves and the accompanying sound of it being added to another pile of books. The shuffling got louder as the professor made a huff of annoyance and came out of his book cave.

“Really I don’t have time to …” he began but promptly stopped as he entered the space to take in the intruder.

John was startled back to reality at the sound of books clattering to the ground. The professor, a tall, slender man in a dark corduroy jacket and red wine coloured shirt with dark jeans and the most sensational wild, curly hair, suddenly lost for words and staring.

“S…sorry,” John stuttered. “Professor, I’m John. John Watson? I’m your new student transfer? I’ve just brought my paperwork for you to sign and to introduce myself. My parents …” He kicked himself internally at how young and stupid he sounded, mentioning his parents.

The professor made no move to speak, blinking a couple of times. There was an awkward tension in the air and something so familiar about his eyes that John caught himself staring too.

The man’s eyebrows came together in something that could be annoyance, or frustration. John had the distinct impression that he was being a large inconvenience to this man.

“Sorry, I … is this not okay? At my other university, apparently we had to check in at the start of a year and I … well it sounds embarrassing, but my Mother made the arrangements and said I was to come here.”

The pinch between the man’s eyebrows was definitely more pained and the professor squeezed his eyes shut deliberately before speaking, which made John even more nervous. He felt pretty certain he had done the wrong thing, although not really sure why, and braced for the wrath of this grumpy professor.

“No no, it’s fine,” the professor shook his head and swallowed hard as if to clear whatever had been distracting him. He had a very posh accent, exactly as you’d expect of a professor at a prestigious university, and yet he didn’t look anything like you’d expect. For starters he seemed young. Younger than John by a year or two. “Actually, I’m not …”

Suddenly before he could finish his thought, the door was pushed open further with force and a body brushed past John into the room, interrupting the man speaking. “Ah I see you two’ve met already. Lovely.” An older man with grey hair and very strong aftershave breezed in the room and took his place behind the desk. His voice was jovial and warm.

John was momentarily confused. The young professor made no move or sound. But stood more to attention, giving John the impression of a soldier acknowledging their drill Sargent as they entered barracks and a slight blush crossed his cheeks as if he’d been caught in the act of something unexpected.

“You must be John?” The new man asked, giving a kind smile while taking John’s hand and shaking it. Looking between the two men, John still can’t figure out what has happened.

“Sorry I …” John said, not sure how to finish the sentence, the confusion clear on his face.

“Thank you Sherlock, did you find the article I was looking for?” The man addressed the younger gentleman, who replied without taking his eyes off John, which was incredibly unnerving.

“Well, I think you were looking for the wrong thing really, so I found a series of articles which contradict the theory altogether and I think it will give you a much more interesting angle for the dissertation,” he postured with an air of arrogance, eyes squinted at John as he finished, clearly also having trouble figuring out the situation.

The older man let out a puff of air in frustration, putting his fingers between his knitted brows – clearly not even thrown by the lack of eye contact. “Right. Okay. Thanks. Not what I asked for, but I’ll take a look. You do always have a way of finding the right angle, Sherlock. Sorry John, how rude of me. I’m Professor Lestrade,” he redirected towards John.

John turned a shade of alarming red as he realised this older man was actually the professor, of course he was, and a small involuntary noise escaped him in shock as he stepped forward to hand over his papers. As he made the move forward, John’s foot collided with some of the books the younger man had dropped.

“Oh sorry! Wow I’m really making a clumsy mess of this!” John said, his voice wobbled embarrassingly, he and the young man both bending down to grab at the books. The young man glared at John again with those eyes. Those eyes. And didn't lose his gaze as he scrambled to grab them all. The last one, which John was holding caught his eye and they both looked down at it.

“Sorry,” John said, clearing his throat in embarrassment, blushing and handing the book over.

“John … this … is Sherlock Holmes. He’s my slightly annoying but brilliant research assistant and academic fellow here in the department.” John took a moment to look Sherlock up and down properly.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Of course.” He reached out his hand to shake and realised Sherlock’s arms were full of books. Sherlock looked at John’s outstretched hand and his nostrils flared as if he has been offended in some grave way by the gesture. Instead of shaking John’s hand or saying a word, he walked to the professor’s desk, dumped the books and stormed out, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way without a look back. He slammed the door as he went which startled John and the professor both momentarily.

John felt his face heat again in embarrassment and stared after the empty doorway where it felt as if the man had left an aftershock of energy.

“Don’t mind him. He has a flare for the dramatic. He doesn’t play well with others. That was, slightly more so than usual though,” the professor said distractedly also watching where the young man had stormed out. “I was going to get him to grab me a coffee too,” he said with more disappointment. “Now, do grab a seat and let’s chat, John. Watson? Isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s right,” John said shaking off the shock of the encounter and coming forward to take the chair offered to him, checking back over his shoulder at the door, as he removed his coat first.

And even though they continued to talk for another thirty minutes or so, John’s mind was somewhere out that door following after a certain assistant and wondering where he had gone and what was so familiar about him.


	3. Brotherly Love

Sherlock cleared the door and made it down one flight of stairs before he stopped and leaned against the wall, panting. Eyes closed for a moment, his heart racing uncontrollably. _What was John doing here?_ He had done everything in his power to clear the slate and start somewhere new. How was he going to make this work? Not only was John now at the same university, but also in the same _department_? What were the odds? How could that be? The universe clearly had it in for him. _I am going to have to avoid contact with my brother at all costs for the next week at least to make sure he doesn’t find out._ He thought to himself. Mycroft had been insufferably protective, and Sherlock had only just started to gain some of his freedoms back. This was far from a good outcome.

_But John looked_ … well it was good to see him. Oh god how good that was. He was skinnier than he should be. But it was heartbreaking to look into that face and see the blank look in his eyes.

_He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t know._ Sherlock swallowed hard and tried to calm his heartbeat down.

“Alright Mr Holmes?” the sensuous voice of Dr Adler came down the stairs towards him. Sherlock stood upright in fear of being discovered.

“Mhmm, fine thanks,” Sherlock tried to say calmly, readjusting his scarf and jacket as if he were on his way somewhere important.

“Sure you don’t need anything? I’d be happy to help, if you’re in need of … something,” she cooed, rubbing his arm as she passed.

“Absolutely fine. Thanks though, Professor.” Sherlock smiled weakly.

“Your loss,” she smiled as she walked on down the corridor, her very high stilettos clicking on the concrete, the floral scent of her perfume drifting behind her like some wicked spell to try and capture lost souls. She enjoyed flirting with Sherlock, with all the young grad students actually. But she seemed to be particularly fond of Sherlock which annoyed him immensely, but he knew he had to keep the peace, so he humoured her.

Sherlock rested back against the wall, relieved. Head in hands for a moment, rubbing his face.

_Get it together Holmes_ , he said quietly to himself. I will just have to ask the professor to move John to another supervisor, that’s all.

He pushed off the wall and took a deep breath in and released it. Hopefully the professor hadn’t noticed how out of sorts he had been. Luckily his behaviour was always just weird enough that a moment like that mustn’t have drawn too much attention. He steeled himself to walk out into grounds and away from John.

Just as he was ready to move, his phone rang loudly in his pocket. Always impeccable timing, he thought with an internal eye roll. _Here we go._

“Brother.” Mycroft always knew how to rub him the wrong way, even with a single word.

“What do you want Mycroft?” He groaned into the phone.

“It’s Tuesday. I’m checking in, as scheduled previously.” Mycroft sounded slightly offended

“Must we do this every single week though?” Sherlock whined. He hated how he sounded like a ten year old again every time they talked.

"I think so, don't you?" Mycroft preened smugly.

“You sound fatter. Is that possible?” Sherlock retorted the only way he knew to offend his brother.

“Deflecting Sherlock. I know you’re deflecting.” But Sherlock could tell his brother was already inspecting himself in a mirror to check.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“The usual. Anything to report?” Mycroft was digging. He couldn't possibly know yet. Sherlock paused momentarily. Maybe too long, even through the phone he could hear his brother prickling with sudden interest.

“No. Nothing to report. The Professor is still trying to publish in completely the wrong area. Attending lectures is tedious. I’m marking the work of idiots.”

“So business as usual then?” Mycroft joked.

“Quite so,” Sherlock agreed finally.

“And the new research assistant? Did Lestrade get someone new in after the last one left?”

Sherlock was stunned into silence a feeling of dread building. He couldn’t tell his brother the truth.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft waited.

“Yes, yes. There’s a new assistant.” Sherlock tried to sound as casual as possible.

“And? Are you playing nice?”

“Nice enough,” he said in annoyance.

“Sherlock, your place there is thanks to my generosity to the university. Please don’t scare off another assistant.”

“Fine.” Sherlock hated being told what to do by his brother. Hated that his brother could have that much control. He knew why. But he hated it, nonetheless. And if he knew who that assistant was, Sherlock knew the conversation would be altogether different.

“I can hear the eye roll from here, but I’ll take it for now. I’m thinking I might come and visit next week.”

“NO!" Sherlock yelled louder than he meant to. "I mean, sorry. No, that’s not necessary. I won’t have time next week. In fact, I’m late now, I have to go!”

“Wait. Mother wanted me to check on you. Is the room to your liking?” Mycroft jumped in before Sherlock could hang up. He knew Sherlock couldn't refuse answering Mother.

“It’s fine. It has a bed. Not that I’ll use it, and ample space for my experiments, thanks. It’s definitely an improvement on the last room.”

“You’re sure you won’t reconsider staying in the town apartment. It would be far more …”

“Mycroft, it’s fine. There’s no point, honestly. I barely sleep and being close to the lab is better. The hours I keep …”

“Sherlock …” Mycroft wasn't sure what to say but wanted to reassure his brother, to try and glean something more personal from him for once. But Sherlock was intent upon staying a safe distance apart.

“Mycroft. You needn’t worry. I’m not going to change my plans. I’m fine. If that’s all …”

Mycroft sent a loud deliberate sigh into the phone and Sherlock couldn't help smirking a little at the irritation he knew he caused his brother.

“Right then. Love to Mother,” he said mockingly cheerily, and hung up without waiting for a returned salutation, placing the phone guiltily in his pocket. Looking up towards the floor above one last time, he straightened his coat and stepped out into the chilly air.


	4. Blog entry – First Day

_Blog entry – First Day Thoughts_

_Today I met the most unusual man. Dashing and clearly intelligent beyond his years. Very peculiar and very intense. It was actually a little embarrassing, I mistook him for my professor at first. But he didn’t like me very much. He was quite rude in fact and left before I could talk to him._

_Day one in the department wasn't all bad. The professor – once I met the real one – Is actually quite nice. Liked my research ideas and is getting me started in the department with some course work first and assisting him where needed in between. It feels good to be getting back into some study. I'm nervous but excited._

_I think Mary is pleased to see me have some purpose finally. It's funny though, now I'm here and we can spend more time together, I feel like I want to find other things to do._

_I think I will be working together with the other guy some more, but I don’t know if he intrigues me or terrifies me. There was something familiar about him though. His eyes … his blue eyes. They reminded me of something, of someone but I just can’t place who it is._


	5. A Chance Encounter

“That’s _it_?” Mary looked up from John's laptop, and then grabbed her broom to continue her sweeping. Clearly mocking him.

“Yeah. It is. But don’t you think that’s strange?” John tried to justify his blog entry. Mary always read his blog at the end of the day.

Meeting her for the end of shift clean-up at the café each afternoon had become their new routine since they had moved to campus. Today her work partner had to be at a lecture, so John helped gather all the cups from various tables and brought them to the counter as they talked. It made him feel useful.

“His _eyes_ though? You think you remembered his eyes? Pfft don’t be ridiculous John! Millions of people have blue eyes! _I_ have blue eyes!” She widened her eyes to punctuate the thought and jabbed him with her hip as John walked past her, to tease him. John should have enjoyed the frivolity between them, but it just irritated him and made him feel misunderstood. She was the only person John had to talk to.

He put the cups on the counter and closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t explain it. I just … he reminded me of someone.” John knew she wouldn’t understand this. Why did he even show her? He turned towards her but leant his weight back against the counter, hoping she might take this more seriously.

“Well I’m sure you can ask him and figure it out – I mean maybe he went to school with you or something? You’ll be working together now won’t you? With the same supervisor?” she said as she handed him a plate from the table near her to add to the pile on the bench and John stretched forward to grab it.

“Yeah I guess so, yeah. You’re right. Forget it, it’s silly.” John didn’t want to talk with her about it anymore, so he redirected: “How has _your_ day been anyway?” John punctuated it with a gentle smile, pretending he was happy to move on and she seemed to believe it.

“Oh so hectic! John, a man came in and paid for five coffees in small change. Dead serious. There were even foreign coins amongst the change. It was ridiculous. I had to hold back from laughing! And then would you believe …” Mary continued to prattle on about her day. John had become very good at nodding and smiling and raising his eyebrows at the right time without really listening to her. So he leant back against the counter again, allowing her to continue her many tales and found himself staring over her shoulder out the window at the passers-by, pretending to listen. Suddenly, a familiar tall silhouette with dark curls passed by, his coat shielding him from the wind. Without thinking, John startled upright away from the counter.

“John?” Mary stopped talking mid sweep and laughed nervously in embarrassment. “What is it?”

“Sorry Mary, I have to go, sorry! I’ll see you later alright? Call me after you lock up?” he said in a flurry, as he grabbed his coat, gave her a super quick kiss which ended up landing on her ear, and ran out the door leaving her confused.

“But John, your laptop!” she called after him. But it was too late. John couldn’t explain why he reacted so quickly, but he knew he had to see this man, this man that made him feel … well he didn’t know how he felt. But he had to talk to him. Running against the crisp air John could see him ahead. He frantically tried to get his coat on as he ran towards Sherlock. He moved so gracefully, the cut of his coat both curved to his shape and catching the wind at the same time to flail dramatically at its tails. Something about the coat stirred something in John. Perhaps it was familiar, or perhaps it just made him look heroic. John needed to catch up and speak to him. His heart was racing not from the exertion but from the thrill of the chase, the excitement. He felt more alive in this moment than he had for … well he couldn't remember how long.

“Hey!” John called out. Realising he couldn’t remember his name all of a sudden.

Sherlock stopped. But didn’t turn to see who it was. It was an odd reaction. Surely he would want to know who called out to him? Surely he couldn’t know John’s voice? Know it was him? But the halt in his movement was all John needed to catch up to him.

“Hey,” he rasped out of breath from the light jog to reach him. He began to realise how unfit he’d become. Finally, as he reached him, Sherlock turned his head.

“Watson, wasn’t it?” he said icily. Not even looking John in the eye.

“Yes, Watson. Call me John. Please,” he said with a light smile, trying hard to be congenial. His hand stretched out instinctively to offer for a shake, was left dangling in the cold air as it was ignored, with a quick glance at it, then he returned to stare ahead and not acknowledge John.

“I think I’ll stick to Watson, if you don’t mind. We’re colleagues. If we’re that,” he said with a sneer. The affront was clear.

“Right. Okay well I just, I … sorry I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve actually forgotten your name.” John’s face coloured with embarrassment and it wasn't lost on the taller man as he looked John up and down. He glared, then squinted, waiting to see John's next move. It was cold, calculated and incredibly unsettling and John couldn’t maintain eye contact, so he looked down at his feet. _This man was very intimidating._

John kicked absently at a stick on the ground at his feet, unable to make eye contact again. “Never mind, I was just in the café and saw you walk by. I thought maybe …” his voice trailed off, losing confidence.

“You thought running me down on campus would be a good idea? So what? We could get to know each other? It’s not really necessary. I’m focussed on the work, Watson. I don’t have friends. You should know that about me from the get-go.” He stood firm, and without any emotion. It was terrifying. “But the name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. So you don’t need to resort to _cat calling_ next time.” He said it with a certain amount of disdain dripping from the words.

“I wasn’t …” John began defensively then thought better of it. “Right. Of course. Sorry I just, well I don’t know any people here yet,” he said in offer of explanation and was mortified that his voice sounded shaky. This was the most intimidating person he’d ever met.

“I’m sure your _girlfriend_ would disagree with that,” he retorted, not in jest. He didn’t give away much emotion and barely moved a muscle as he observed John’s reactions to what he said.

“My _girlfriend_?” He was momentarily confused. _I haven’t even mentioned her yet. How does he know?_

“You have lipstick on your cheek. I assumed she kissed you earlier,” he said in annoyance. It made John feel stupid, but a little thrill went down his spine – it was like he read John’s mind. And yet, there was something accusatory in his tone John didn’t understand. Maybe he read it wrong. This man was clearly not interested in being friendly.

“Oh.” John rubbed nervously at his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket. “Mary. Yes. Well obviously I know _her_.” He gave a slightly nervous giggle which was humiliating given the mood of the situation.

“Watson, I’m sorry was there something …? I have a lab booking.” He rolled his eyes and adjusted his scarf and gloves. The implication that John was wasting his time dripped from every syllable.

“Oh, of course. I … sorry. Please don’t let me keep you. Could you use a hand?” John internally kicked himself but couldn’t seem to stop talking. He clearly didn’t want to be kept longer. Why couldn’t John just leave him be? He knew he was behaving like an over eager puppy, but he couldn't stop.

“That won’t be necessary. I work alone.” To which Sherlock didn’t wait for a response but stalked away at great speed, his long legs moving him swiftly in the opposite direction, leaving John in shock. 


	6. A New Friend

Even though John had moved on to campus a week ago, he hadn’t yet explored it. He found the whole thing intimidating in general. He tried to walk around with an air of confidence, but he was constantly losing the battle between looking confident and relaxed or looking hopelessly lost. Trying to find his way to the first lecture was becoming an embarrassingly lost cause. He was going to have to call Mary.

Up ahead a young ridiculously enthusiastic lady with a pony tail was bouncing around talking to passers-by and handing out flyers and John tried to figure out if he could avoid walking by her but it seemed that would require walking through the well-manicured garden which would be frowned upon. John didn’t remember much about his past, if anything, but something in his nature screamed to him that rule breaking wasn’t something he was used to.

“Hi! You look lost. Can I offer you a map and some directions?” Her high-pitched enthusiasm hurt John’s teeth. “I’m on the student union and we are here to help new students feel at home!” It seemed impossible but her smile broadened even wider and her chest puffed out with pride.

“Uh, no, no I was just …” John stopped himself and realised how foolish he was being. He squared his shoulders and offered her a polite smile. “Actually, it would be helpful yes. I am lost. Rather hopelessly it seems.”

“Lovely,” she sighed. “I’m Molly. Molly Hooper. Science post grad second year.”

“Oh great. Me too. I’m John. John Watson – pre-med.”

“Ah well, we will have a few classes together John and I was about to end my shift here and head that way, so why don’t I just walk you there?” she said kindly.

“Sure. That would be lovely, thank you. I’ve just come from Professor Lestrade’s office, but I seem to be walking around in circles trying to find my way to the first lecture,” he offered with a nervous giggle.

"Oh yes it's over in the other building just over …" she began.

“John!” He was winded suddenly as Mary, almost crash tackled him from the side and wrapped her arms violently around him.

“Mary, god you scared me!” John laughed awkwardly, looking at Molly for a reaction but she just smiled sweetly and patiently.

“Saw you looking lost and I thought I better come and rescue you. Hi, I’m Mary,” she stretched out her hand to Molly. It was meant as a warm gesture, John was sure, but there was something slightly assertive and menacing in it. _Stay away from my John_ was clear in the tone.

“Oh uh, hi. I’m Molly, student union,” she offered shyly not seeming to notice the malice, or else choosing to ignore it.

“Lovely to meet you,” Mary said with an air of confidence, her less threatening façade back in place.

“I was just going to show John to class, as we’re studying together,” Molly said innocently, Mary’s smile falling at the comment.

“Oh I see. A science nerd. Well keep an eye on my John. I’ll meet you at the café after?” she said hopefully.

“Sure Mary. Of course,” John said obediently. As if he would say anything else.

“Great,” she said a little too enthusiastically as she leaned forward and planted a very decided kiss on his lips to ensure there was no doubt of where they stood before running off again.

“She seems …” Molly began nervously.

“Crazy?” John offered.

Molly gave a nervous giggle. “No that was _not_ what I was going to say! She’s very beautiful” She corrected as she blushed.

“Yes, she is beautiful, and she knows it,” John said with an eye roll.

“How long have you been together?” Molly asked.

John suddenly felt a blush on his cheeks. The realisation that he actually didn’t know the answer and that he’d taken on something bigger than he realised – coming to a new place and having to answer questions – began to make his stomach cramp. “I uh …”

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry. That was so rude of me. _None of your business Molly_!” she scolded herself aloud. “Sorry I sometimes say things I shouldn’t in awkward social situations. You absolutely do not have to answer that. I shouldn't be so nosy.” She flourished her statement with some wild hand gestures and pointed toward the direction they needed to walk.

“Oh no, I should be sorry. I didn’t mean to … the thing is … well, I can’t remember exactly,” John said awkwardly.

“Wow, that long? Okay. Must be serious,” Molly offered.

“Well, maybe I … sorry can we not talk about this?” John really didn’t like it. _This is why I should stay away from people_ , he thought to himself.

“Sure, absolutely. Girlfriend off limits. It’s obviously complicated. Let’s stick to science and get to class huh?” Molly generously offered.

John liked her. She seemed lovely and had that true British awkwardness that meant he didn’t really have to explain himself. They walked on in silence, and John took in the beautiful campus grounds. He watched as so many people sat together in the sun chatting or greeting friends excitedly on the walkway as they moved around. Some people walked determinedly carrying books with purpose and it suddenly occurred to John that he would not even know if any of these people were old acquaintances. He could walk by a best friend from his time before and not even know it. He felt a pang of sadness and cleared his throat to quell the tickle of emotion that had started there, blinking furiously to settle down the prickling behind his eyes. No one needed to see that.

_Eyes_. Suddenly his thoughts were back in the professor’s room and those eyes of the research assistant came back to mind. How could they seem familiar? He had no memories. It was odd. He hadn’t had that feeling for the longest time – _recognition_. John imagined it must have reminded him of the eyes of someone from his past. He had learnt in recent years, to accept things and not overthink things or expect memories to ever return.

Besides, surely someone as eccentric as that man wouldn’t be someone he would forget.


	7. Friendship secured

Finding a seat together in the large lecture theatre, they unravelled their coats, books and bags. Molly started nattering away about so many things, John was not really listening as well as he should.

“She does seem lovely, John,” she said encouragingly.

“Hmm?” John queried absentmindedly as he pulled items out of the clutter of his bag.

“Mary,” Molly repeated – realising he hadn't been listening at all.

“Oh yes. She is. She _is_.” John nodded furiously, catching back up to her conversation.

“I’m sorry about before I didn’t mean to …”

“No honestly Molly, I should apologise. It’s complicated. I was in an accident. It's very complicated. But basically, I don’t talk to my old friends much, or at all actually, but somehow, she and I …” John let the thought drift off. He’d never really questioned it before. Mary was just there, when the new John had come into the world. She always held his hand, always supported him. John’s parents loved her. His brow creased as he realised he had never actually questioned how it came to be. As he turned to grab another book from his bag beside him, John noticed some movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up and in the far corner of the very large lecture room, Sherlock had moved into the very back corner seat – a long distance away from everyone.

“What’s the story with him?” John gestured his head to the back corner of the lecture theatre, where the man had huddled in the darkest corner alone.

“Sherlock? Have you met him?” Molly asked with a gasp.

“Ah yes, we collided more or less a couple of times.” John let out a nervous laugh which gave away more than he wanted it to, and Molly let out a little feminine giggle which indicated she knew all too well what that could mean, and a small blush grew on her cheeks.

“Sherlock doesn’t talk to anyone. That’s his seat. Every lecture. He’s super smart, but definitely a loner. Do not approach,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Hmmm,” John mumbled to himself as he gazed back again, unable to resist. For a brief moment Sherlock’s eyes found John’s in the lecture room and they both stared for a second, before he slumped further into his seat, over a book and began reading. John got the distinct impression he had committed some very large offence on Sherlock’s senses without knowing it, and he felt the colour rise in his cheeks again. He sat down facing the front to avoid eye contact.

“Sherlock? Strange name, right?” He tried to say casually, certain he had failed miserably.

“Yeah I’ve never really talked to him much. I’m pretty sure he has no idea who I am, and I have assisted him on labs and everything. Rich family, scary brother. Also has a weird name. They’re generally just in the "avoid at all costs" zone. But he’s pretty dreamy. I wish he would talk to me,” Molly said as she lined her pens up on her tray table next to her book neatly, preparing to take copious notes, no doubt.

John’s thoughts were interrupted as the professor entered and dimmed the lights to begin. This professor was a lady, with dark hair and very red lipstick, crazy high stilettos and a tight dark dress. The kind of person you don’t want to mess with. John took one more moment to steal a glance back at Sherlock to find him still hovered over the book, phone in hand with the torch on and his coat curled around to allow him to keep reading by torch light. Like a little boy under the blankets past bedtime reading a comic book. John didn’t know whether to be annoyed at the show of disrespect, or jealous that he could get away with it.

“I’m Professor Adler. Welcome to my class. I expect a lot from my students. Prepare yourselves. Open your text to page twenty-six and let’s begin, shall we?”

The time passed quickly, and John realised he had not listened to a single thing at all.

“John you didn’t take any notes!” Molly scolded.

“Sorry, I just drifted off somewhere in my mind, I think …” He said, embarrassed.

“Never mind, you can copy my notes from this one. They are colour coded and everything,” she snorted proudly to herself.

As John stood up and placed his books into his bag, he noticed with disappointment, that Sherlock had already snuck out of the lecture. He shook his head at the impertinence of that man’s behaviour all round. He was clearly arrogant to think he needn’t pay attention. Or get to know people. Something about it all annoyed John more than it should.

“She seemed good – that Dr Adler,” he said to Molly.

“Well _you_ clearly didn’t get much out of it but yeah she’s great. _And_ she's beautiful. A deadly combination,” Molly said dreamily.

“Molly are you …?” John glanced over at her with a brow crooked in question.

“Oh no. Not me. I’m still waiting for Professor Lestrade to notice me. Or Sherlock Holmes. But you have to admit, she’s beautiful. I mean I’m straight, but I’m not stupid,” she joked.

John gave her a half smile. She was innocent and adorable in a homely sort of way, but she clearly had a little bit of hidden sass. He would happily take any new friend he could. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the comradery of a normal friendship. And he liked it. His friends from before had somehow not stayed in touch. It was always just him and Mary.

“Oh, speaking of Lestrade, I have to go and check in with him. Some research assignment or something.” John rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but a part of him secretly hoped he would bump in to Sherlock again.

“Oh well I don’t want to keep you. Perhaps we could meet up after? Study together over lunch?” Molly sounded hopeful.

“Sure thing. I’ll send you a message when I’m done?” John said. The relief of making a friend surprised him. He enjoyed being a bit of a hermit up to this point, but he was actually grateful to have someone to sit with. Molly grabbed his phone from his hands and entered her number with a confidence John didn’t realise she had. He smiled at her, surprised.

“Lovely. I’ll be in the library if you want to just come and find me there even. I wanted to get a head start on the readings,” she said excitedly. John gathered making friends wasn't something Molly was great at either – she seemed unnaturally excited about this too.

“Do you know how to find your way?” she teased gently.

“Yes, I know how to get to Lestrade’s office, my dorm and Mary’s café. That’s about the limit though.” John look embarrassed.

“Ah right, well call me when you’re done, and I’ll direct you to the library!” she giggled.

“Sure thing.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, feeling more positive about this university thing. John had his first friend.


	8. Sherlock the Impossible

Sherlock tried to balance the library books as he walked up the stairs to Lestrade’s office. He really shouldn’t have grabbed so many, but the list Lestrade had given him was ridiculous, and he couldn’t bear to leave it at that, and not insert some of his own ideas. Eating an apple too was probably not smart though, he would admit to that. So now he was balancing books against his chest with a half-eaten apple in his mouth and trying to navigate the stairs in his coat. Good thing he didn’t care what people thought in general. People were idiots after all. Arriving at the office he could hear voices through the door.

_“Excellent, yes you are really on the right track with this, I think perhaps if you could just …”_

_“Yes, I wondered if that was too much.”_

Sherlock startled at the sound of what he realised was John’s voice inside. _John_. Of course John was there. Annoyed, he pushed the door open with his hip, which thankfully was already ajar, and entered the room noisily, trying not to lose balance, but intentionally interrupting the conversation.

“Weww Lethrade …” he announced to the room, stopping the conversation, apple still in mouth obstructing his words.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade chastised with a roll of his eyes.

Sherlock took in the room. “O thorry, wath I intewuptin?” He tried to sound breezy while talking with the apple in his mouth as he brought the pile of books closer to the desk. It wasn’t hard work for him to be deliberately difficult – but he was trying more than usual with John in the room. As he got closer, the top book toppled off the pile and John reached quickly and caught it before it hit the floor.

They all stopped in shock.

“Good reflexes mate,” Lestrade announced impressively.

Sherlock moved more cautiously and Lestrade grabbed at the rest of the books and assisted Sherlock in adding them to his desk, which was already cluttered with a plate of food and so much paper, there was no clean space to place them. _It was no surprise that the third-year assignments often got misplaced_ , Sherlock thought to himself.

“I grabbed the ones you asked for but of course I’ve added some of my own too,” Sherlock continued arrogantly.

“Of course you have,” Lestrade said with mock annoyance.

They both glanced at John who stood nervous and embarrassed, holding the last book.

He handed the caught book over to Sherlock. “Sorry, I just … didn’t want you to damage the book.”

There was an awkward silence. Sherlock didn’t move and it made John increasingly uncomfortable that perhaps he had crossed an unspoken line, again.

Sherlock dropped into the armchair at the side of the room and carried on eating his apple, a smirk of superiority on his face, like a cat that felt he owned the place. He grabbed a journal that had been carelessly strewn on the arm of the chair, casually draped his long legs over the arm and leaned back against the other arm as he began flipping through the articles loudly. He munched, with deliberate violence on the apple.

“Right, as I was saying, John. Before we were so _rudely_ interrupted,” he pointed that comment at Sherlock and rolled his eyes again. Sherlock ignored him but flipped the page loudly again in disagreement. “I’m liking the direction you’ve taken with this. Keep on that. Actually, you might find a couple of these books useful for your work as well. I was going to ask you to go on an errand to grab a couple of periodicals from Dr Adler. Perhaps Sherlock, you could show John where her office is?”

Sherlock looked up at them both lazily. “No, I don’t think so,” he said simply. John was shocked at the boldness of it.

“Sherlock!” the professor scolded.

“She’s just down the hall – on this level. He’s not that much of an idiot, surely he can find it.”

“Ta very much,” John bristled.

“Honestly, I have better things to be doing with my time than playing host to the new boy.” His voice dripped with a disdain that made John colour slightly.

“I can do it on my own – he’s right. Give me the list and I’ll follow it up, no problem. I don’t need a babysitter anyway, _thanks_.” He made sure to point that at Sherlock, who pretended not to take notice. John was disappointed not to get a reaction and left without another word.

“Sherlock, was that really necessary?” Lestrade asked. “What’s going on with you this week?” Sherlock dropped his legs off the chair, closed the magazine and looked at Lestrade. “Really, professor, I don’t know why you insist on bringing in these extra students to help, I can do this all on my own, and run circles around them. You _know_ I can,” Sherlock whined.

“Sherlock, be helpful. That’s an order. I like this one. He’s smarter than the last few we’ve had. Play nice.”

Sherlock huffed childishly.

“Now talk me through what you grabbed and which books you refused to get for me …”


	9. Blog - Frustrated

_Blog entry – How Long Can I Keep This Up!?_

_I’m not sure I can do this. This man is infuriating. We are supposed to be working together, helping this professor and this complete ass refuses to talk to me or work as a team. I can’t imagine what he’s like as a tutor – marking those poor students’ assignments. Oh, he makes me so mad. I’ve never felt this angry. That I can remember at least. I’m usually a peaceful person but something about this man just makes me so angry! What have I done to offend him so completely?_

_I’ve tried being helpful, being polite, making conversation. He will have none of it. I honestly don’t know if I can keep working with Professor Lestrade if I have to engage with this twat every day._


	10. Sherlock Asks for Help

“Honestly Molly, without a word of a lie that’s exactly how he said it!” John said loudly. He had been filling Molly in amidst the noise of the university cafeteria in full lunch time bustle.

“Well he _seems_ dark and mysterious, but I hoped maybe he would be more sweet and broody on the inside, not rude and arrogant,” Molly said disappointedly, picking at her food.

“I just tell it like it is. The man is a giant ass,” John said with victory, biting the salad violently from his fork as if conquering the tomato would equate to conquering Sherlock and his antics.

“I can’t imagine anyone being a giant ass to you, John. You’re so sweet.”

John gave her an appreciative smile. She was so lovely. “Well, apparently something about me rubs him the wrong way because he’s certainly going to great lengths to piss me off.”

Molly giggled. “I’m so glad we could meet up for lunch. This week has been so busy. How are you finding the workload?”

“Yeah, it’s intense, and there are things I seem to know but I don’t remember how, which is super weird. But I’m just going along with it for now. Just going with the flow,” John said, trying to sound more casual about it than he really felt.

“Yeah that makes sense. And the professor? He’s happy with your research so far …” she was interrupted by a tall figure crowding into their table space.

“Watson, I had to come and get you!” Sherlock gushed, surprising them both.

John was mid mouthful and swallowed it with a loud gulp as he looked up at Sherlock. He took a moment to try and calm his sudden nerves and maintain some of his cool.

“Sherlock. This is Molly. Molly – Sherlock. You can say hello first, Sherlock. It won’t hurt.” He delivered it with such confidence he surprised himself.

Sherlock’s brow creased. Then he rolled his eyes after seeing the demanding look on John’s face. “Hello Molly,” he said meekly.

“There you go. Was that so hard?” John teased him. Sherlock just continued to stand there, hands in pockets, not moving.

“Okay now we have exchanged some pleasantries and I’ve clearly short circuited your brain by doing so … what do you need? Why are you even here?” John teased.

Suddenly Sherlock snapped out of his stillness and talked in a flurry of words.

“Lestrade is losing his mind. He can’t find the paper draft of his published work and his whole office is in complete chaos. I’m not helping. He said I needed to find you. It’s urgent! He has to present it to the Dean in a matter of hours and it’s gone.”

John thought for a minute. He wanted so badly to impress this man, but also wanted to get back at him for all the rude things he’d done and said this week. “Tell him I’m busy,” John settled on, nonchalantly, taking another bite of his salad

“ _Please_.” Sherlock had never looked so needy.

“No. Tell him I’m busy. I’m having lunch with Molly. _You_ can help him, or you can wait.”

Molly’s mouth dropped open at John’s change of behaviour – at how confidently he had made this dreamy man just have to stand and wait. Sherlock started hopping nervously on the spot and looking rather pained, not knowing what to do.

“ _John_ …” He pleaded again.

“What? Now you need something, suddenly I’m _John_? No, sorry you’ve been a giant ass since day one. I don’t owe you any favours,” he said coldly. Inside his heart was beating fast and he surprised even himself, but he was getting a small thrill at having this man begging him so completely.

Molly couldn’t take it any longer. “Oh John, stop teasing him. Why don’t I just come along? You can introduce me to your dreamy Professor, as you promised you would. Maybe I can be helpful too?” she said brightly.

“Doubt it,” Sherlock bristled looking her up and down.

Molly blinked in offence and looked at John.

“ _Told you_ ,” John said to her with a knowing look.

“Hmmm, yes you did. Come on. We don’t need to be asses as well though.” Molly stood grabbing their lunch off the table. “Sherlock can carry my bag.” And she gave her best attempt at a haughty look of her own.

They stood up and walked past Sherlock to the exit, leaving him to grab Molly’s bag and follow them.

“Told you what?” he asked from behind. “ _What_ did you tell her about me?”

Molly and John giggled to each other as they walked briskly ahead leaving Sherlock to trail behind.

When they reached the office, John realised Sherlock had not lied, the office was in complete disarray. Lestrade was pulling his hair out literally in frustration.

“Oh finally!” Lestrade exhaled. “John, Sherlock is utterly hopeless at being helpful!”

John beamed at the compliment and at being needed while Sherlock stood with mouth gaping in offence, still holding Molly’s bag by the doorway and staying quiet for once.

“My draft paper was here on the desk this morning when you were here with me, and now it’s gone!” Lestrade exclaimed.

John removed his jacket and bag and walked over to the desk. “Well I’m sure it’s here somewhere. Let me tidy up everything for you – hop out of the way, you’ve clearly not found anything yet,” John said kindly.

Molly cleared her throat loudly in the middle of the room, drawing attention to herself.

“Right, sorry. Lestrade, this is Molly Hooper. Second year post grad.” John pointed to her and Lestrade moved over to her.

“Pleasure to meet you Molly,” he said warmly as he reached out and shook her hand.

Molly blushed furiously and returned his handshake and they stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. As they began to make pleasantries, John could feel Sherlock scrutinising his every move as he started cleaning the desk. It took all his energy to focus intently on the desk and not make eye contact. He blocked out the chatter of Lestrade and Molly, but he could feel Sherlock’s gaze burning into the top of his head and as he cleaned, he started pondering what it was about this infuriating man that intrigued him so much. Perhaps it was just that John had never had trouble being nice to people and Sherlock’s deliberate distaste for him was hard to take.

After a few minutes, Sherlock dropped Molly's bag and moved to the armchair, flopping in it lazily with a book, while Molly and Lestrade were now deep in conversation.

“Perhaps we should go and get some coffees while John works his magic. Sherlock?” Lestrade offered.

“Yes, coffee would be great,” he said in answer, clearly not planning on moving.

“I meant for us to leave him in peace – you could come,” he suggested.

“I’m fine right here,” he said, and it made John’s pulse race that he actually wanted to stay.

“Right. Of course you are. John, you want anything?” Lestrade asked.

"Sure, a tea would be great. How have you made such a mess of this desk?” he chastised the professor gently.

Lestrade chuckled nervously. “Curse of being a professor I think.” And with that Molly followed him out but not before sharing an excited look with John.

The room fell silent aside from the rustling of John’s tidying.

“She’s not seriously trying to get in with Lestrade is she?” Sherlock moaned not taking his eyes off the book.

John looked up at him briefly. “Well she’s going to give it a red hot go it seems,” John retorted, annoyed. “You could help me, you know?”

“Not my area,” he said slothfully.

“What? Being clean isn’t your area?” John mocked.

“Hmmm,” he agreed, not dignifying it with more than that.

“Lestrade needs me for my brain and not my skills in finding things. That’s an assistant’s job.”

“Oh great. Fine,” John huffed, punctuating his offence by dropping a pile of papers to the floor beside him to clear the desk further.

“What?” Sherlock asked, realising he had offended John.

“Nothing. You’re just… infuriating. Do you enjoy being this much of a dick? I mean are you this rude to everyone or is it just because I’m new?”

“Pardon?” Sherlock feigned offence.

“You, you’ve been nothing but difficult since day one. Why?” John accused.

“I told you, Watson, I’m here to work, not make friends. Friends just distract you from the work. I don’t work well with others,” Sherlock admitted.

“Clearly,” John agreed.

They returned to silence for a while. John worked his way through the mess slowly sorting things as he went. Sherlock flicked through the book.

“What did you come here for?” Sherlock finally interrupted the silence, still not looking away from his book.

_“Sorry?”_

“You transferred here. Why?” he asked again.

“Good science program?” John said, unconvincingly.

“Certainly not the best in the country though,” Sherlock retorted, and John knew he had walked into that.

“No, well ah … it’s further away from my parents,” he said with a tinge of guilt.

“Oh,” Sherlock replied not wanting to push on that point.

“I … I needed a clean start,” John admitted in addition.

“From what?” Sherlock sounded nonchalant but looked up at John hopeful for an answer. The expression on his face surprised John and caught him off guard.

“That’s personal,” John said pointedly.

“Okay…” Sherlock acknowledged but knew there would be more. John stopped what he was doing to look at Sherlock properly and try to figure out where the sudden interest had come from.

“Look I just … I’d rather not talk about it. It’s not like you care about the answer anyway.” John didn’t like how sulky he sounded, so he returned to cleaning the desk to distract himself.

Sherlock went back to reading and had the decency to stay silent for a while.

“ _You’re_ super smart though,” John finally added.

“Yes, so?” Sherlock didn’t know where he was going with that.

“So why aren’t _you_ at a better university? I imagine you could take your pick,” John said smugly.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Same reasons I suspect. Space, new beginning. Being away from family. All of that.”

John grunted in acknowledgment. He kept digging through the desk, finding food scraps, dirty cups, and a pile of unmarked term papers. He was grateful for the physical distraction to keep him from looking at Sherlock as they talked. John would hardly call it bonding, but it was the longest conversation he'd managed to secure with Sherlock so far and he didn't want to do anything to mess it up. Finally, at the bottom of the mess he found Lestrade’s work.

“Aha!” John exclaimed.

Sherlock looked up from his book. “You found it?”

“Yes, I did, thank you very much. This desk was revolting. How he managed to get it under this much rubbish is beyond me. Considering he only had it this morning!” John laughed to himself, as he straightened the desk with one hand, the professor's paper in the other.

“Lestrade is the stereotypical lazy professor. But there is some chaotic genius in there too,” Sherlock acknowledged, grabbing the paper from John’s hand. John hadn’t even noticed Sherlock getting up from the chair.

“Hey! That’s not yours!” John cried.

“May as well be, I did the research for most of it,” Sherlock mocked, dancing to the middle of the room with it in his hand, waving it about, the arrogance back in his tone.

“That’s not how it works,” John said firmly, not amused.

Sherlock shot him a glare. “Fine – you take it to him and be the hero,” he said with the dramatic flair he was so good at and he held the paper out for John to take it back.

“No,” John said stubbornly. “It’s fine. I have a lecture to get to anyway. It’s all yours. You're welcome to it.”

And with that, he grabbed his coat and bag and stormed out of the room, leaving Sherlock a little disappointed and ashamed of himself.


	11. The Dream

“How was coffee then?” John asked as he got his books out. He noted to himself that they had sat in the same place again and it gave him a glow in the pit of his stomach that he had a friend, and a regular place that “they sat” now every lecture. He had some routine already and he was enjoying that immensely.

“Oh, it was lovely,” Molly said dreamily. “The Professor was very charming. We talked for ages and drank our coffee. I nearly missed coming to the lecture! Oh, and sorry we didn't make it back with your tea.”

John was pleased for his friend, seeing her glow like that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had that loved-up glow. “It's fine – I left anyway but I'm really glad for you, Molly. Genuinely.” And he gave her a big grin to prove it.

“Did you find his paper?” she asked.

“Yes. I mean I had to spend time couped up in the room with that…ugh it was infuriating. He’s maddening.” And he dotted that thought with a thump of his textbook on the table. “He’s going to take credit for it of course, and quite frankly I couldn’t care at this point. I was glad to get out of there.”

“Sounds to _me_ like you protest too much," she teased. "He didn’t seem all that bad, John. A bit gruff but not that terrible.”

“That’s because you have a crush on him – of course you’d think that,” he jibed as he ribbed her with his elbow.

“Hey!” Molly cautioned.

“Sorry, he just pushes all my buttons, it makes me so mad!” John said between gritted teeth.

“Yeah I can _see_ that,” Molly agreed, wide-eyed as she realised she touched a nerve.

“I’m sorry, Molly. I don’t know why he puts me in such a bad mood! Tell me more about the professor. Do you think he’ll see you again?” he redirected smoothly.

“We’re going to have dinner. Tonight!” Molly shrieked excitedly as the lights dimmed and Professor Adler’s voice took over the room drawing their focus to the front.

“That’s great Molly. Really,” he whispered leaning across to her so as not to draw attention. He realised he hadn’t even looked back at the corner to check if Sherlock had arrived. By now he would have handed Lestrade the paper and have basked in the glow of saving the day – John was sure Sherlock would have twisted the story to make it look like he had eventually helped, and it made him grind his teeth in annoyance.

“Try to take some notes this time,” Molly teased in a whisper back, noticing John had yet to open his book.

As the lecture began, the professor worked through slides in the dark room, and John found it hard to concentrate again. Dr Adler’s voice had a soothing quality that was almost hypnotic. The lecture theatre felt unusually warm today – they had the heating up too high, he noted. With the lights so dim and the heat working its way across his skin, it started to make John drowsy. After the stress of the last couple of days, he found it increasingly challenging to keep his eyes open. Only fifteen minutes in and he found himself drifting into that state of mind hovering between conscious listening and fully sleeping. Before he could stop himself, he’d given in to that lovely foggy feeling which was so comfortable and nice…

_… and I find myself in a dark street. The air is cold, and I can see my breath on the air as I huff out deep breaths. I’ve been running. I’m arguing with someone … a man with piercing blue eyes poking through long curls which obscure his face and he is grabbing at me … begging me to stop and … I'm grabbing at the door of a car and … he's frantically trying to stop me … and I'm pushing him away and … and everything is moving in slow motion … screams … breaking glass … the smell of …_

“NO!” John screamed out, standing up suddenly, spilling his belongings all over the ground with a loud clatter. The whole lecture room stopped. A few students giggled from around the crowd and whispered to each other as John glanced around trying desperately to come back into consciousness and figure out what had just happened.

“John sit down,” Molly whispered loudly at him between gritted teeth, ducking her head down, mortified.

“Yes! I can understand your outrage at the theory,” Dr Adler said, assuming it was student enthusiasm for her lecture and completely oblivious. More people giggled from around John, clearly knowing that was not what it was about. “I too felt the same when I first heard it,” the professor offered, to more reactions and a few random claps from around the room. "You can sit down though, shall we continue?"

Completely confused, John scuttled out of the row, throwing apologies to people as he crawled over them and ran from the lecture theatre, leaving stares and more gossiped whisperings.

He didn’t notice the dark figure in the corner sitting bolt upright, eyes following his exit with concern.


	12. After the Dream

John found a seat under a tree and put his head in his hands, shaking it from side to side in the hope it would snap him out his state of mind and erase the images stuck there. The cool outside air was a jarring relief on his skin. He didn't even miss his jacket, the heat seeping out of him gradually. The images in his mind had been _so clear_ , so real. It was terrifying. He obviously had not been sleeping well the last couple of nights and had fallen asleep in the lecture. He was mortified at the thought.

“Mind if I join you?” the dark baritone asked tentatively.

John replied with a non-committal “hmpf” not acknowledging the arrival, which Sherlock took as an invitation. He found a spot of ground beside John and made himself at home.

They sat together quietly for what felt like too long.

“You alright?” he finally asked quietly.

“I … I don’t know what that was.” John shook his head again, speaking more to himself, and so rattled that he didn’t have the energy to question the sudden concern.

“Seems to me you fell asleep in the lecture. Not the first time someone has done it. I wouldn’t worry too much. Dr Adler does have that effect on many students. But not a great way to make a good first impression, granted,” he said it with a casual air, but John noted that it sounded … _worried_?

“No,” he let out a huff of air, “I mean … yes. Clearly that _is_ what happened.” John gave him an annoyed look at being treated so stupidly, but quickly averted his gaze when those eyes caught his. They had an intensity that was unsettling. “I mean, obviously I’m going to have to move universities and change my name from that embarrassment,” he chuckled to himself, realising this man didn’t even realise how crazy that thought was, given the situation. Sherlock gave John a confused look.

“No, what I _meant_ was, that I was _dreaming_. I had a dream,” John explained.

“Is that unusual?” Sherlock asked, still seeming confused.

“For me it is, yeah,” John replied, nodding slowly.

“Oh?” It was incredibly disconcerting and out of character for him to be … nice … interested even. It felt weirdly comfortable at the same time, though, which was even stranger.

“Sorry, are we … are you talking to me now?” John asked, confused.

“Well yes. I was … worried,” Sherlock said it as if the very admission was a bad taste in his mouth. His eyebrows drew together in something that looked like pain. Like the very act of admitting it was stabbing him in the chest. It was a look John was getting used to when he was near Sherlock, and it offended him.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” John scoffed with sarcasm, and then kicked himself for ruining the moment. He’d been trying to get along with this man for days and finally he offered an olive branch and _he_ was being the complete dick. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he jumped in, before the quip had time to settle.

“It’s alright – I’ve been a bit of an ass. Sorry. I’m not used to working with…people,” Sherlock said, not really sounding convinced of the issue himself.

“Yeah, I got that,” John admitted.

Sherlock allowed himself a small quirk of one side of his mouth in amusement. “I’m actually interested. I’m doing some research in this area,” Sherlock offered, redirecting the conversation to more safe, scientific things.

John looked at him to check if he was serious, before he explained: “I don’t dream, not anymore. Not since …”

“Since?” Sherlock interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Not for a while,” John finished, unwilling to offer more information.

“So, what startled you in there?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what did …” John drifted off into his own thoughts, before being more confident. “ _Frightened_. I was frightened. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like …”

“Like?” Sherlock encouraged, not wanting to finish the thought for him.

“Like a memory,” John said finally.

They sat for a bit in silence, letting that thought sit between them. John was enjoying not feeling the pressure to make conversation but found it strange that Sherlock didn’t ask for any more information, as if he already understood more than what John had offered. He wondered to himself if Sherlock might have read his file. After sitting there in silence and mulling over whether to say it, he finally offered: “ _You_ were there,” as he chuckled to himself in disbelief.

“What?” Sherlock asked, not understanding the statement.

“In my dream,” John added, "you were there."

“Well I’m a new acquaintance. That’s not completely surprising,” he offered scientifically. “People commonly substitute faces into dreams of people they have seen recently or have been thinking about.” John was surprised at how calm Sherlock was about being in his dream, and justifying it, considering they hardly knew each other.

“No, you were different. Younger,” John sat with that thought for a moment before he added: “Do we know each other?” It sounded ridiculous once it left his mouth, but he couldn't settle this weird feeling he kept having and he couldn't help but put it out there.

“Of course," Sherlock said, making John look up at him in shock. "I mean it’s only been a few days," he continued, "That’s about as well as I know anyone here. So yes, I suppose we do,” he said cheekily, clearly knowing full well he was being obtuse, and John couldn't help feeling a pang of disappointment.

He gave Sherlock a scolding look. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I meant from _before_?”

“Before what?” Sherlock asked absently, almost nervously, pulling out a stand of grass to play with between his fingers.

“Before this week,” John sighed, the annoyance returning to his voice. _Of course the niceties couldn’t last_.

“I’m not really sure I understand.” Sherlock sat very still, avoiding eye contact. The blade of grass suddenly apparently very interesting to him.

“When I fell asleep. It felt real, like it was a memory. Like I was _living_ a memory. You were there. I _saw_ you.” John’s voice rose slightly in frustration. He didn’t like to be made to feel crazy. On the other hand, Sherlock didn't know his history. John could hardly be annoyed at him for not understanding, and yet he was.

“The mind works in strange ways, Watson. You probably inserted my face into your dream state because we saw each other earlier today. It doesn’t _mean_ anything,” he said flippantly.

“Would it really kill you to call me by my name?” John said in frustration.

Sherlock didn’t dignify it with an answer and John wondered if Sherlock had any friends at all. If he understood the dynamic of even giving people the time of day outside of his own bubble. As they sat in silence, John thought back to the few encounters he had had with Sherlock, trying to figure out what it was that he could do to make this man respect him just a little bit. The memory of their first interaction drifted into his mind.

“When I met you. You dropped your books,” he said flatly, remembering that awkward first moment.

“Yes, clumsy of me. You startled me.” He was stalling. John could feel it.

“No, I had already got your attention. You looked _shocked_ to see me,” he said, brow creasing as he tried to remember the details. “There’s something strangely familiar about you…”

Suddenly, Sherlock stood up, dropping the blade of grass and brushing off his coat. “ _John_ , I merely felt I needed to check on you." The sudden use of his name making the dismissal more painful somehow. "Don’t mistake this as _friendship_. It was a good excuse to get out of the lecture, it was banal at best. I have a lab booking that I have to get to. I’ll let Dr Adler know you’re okay. I’m sure Ms Hooper will have your things when the lecture is over.”

And with that, he stormed off in a flurry again, coat tails swishing in the wind. John found himself staring after Sherlock trying to process the sudden reaction and why he felt he had to run off again. He was deep in thought, cataloguing the strange meetings he had experienced with his infuriating _colleague_ , the word sitting uncomfortably with him. Suddenly his bag was dropped heavily beside him, jolting him out of his thoughts, Molly flopping down beside it.

“John what on earth happened? _Everyone_ is talking about you!” Molly fussed.

“Great. Perfect," he said, rubbing his hand over his face in exasperation. "I’m fine Molly. Just didn’t get any sleep last night and dozed off in class,” John tried to say nonchalantly.

“You cried out!” she exclaimed, chortling at him gently. "You have to admit that was a dramatic exit?!"

“Yes, alright. Thank you. It was just a weird dream. I’m okay honest.” John couldn’t hide his embarrassment.

“John what is going on? And was that _Sherlock_ just now? Did he come and check on you, Oh John! Did he?!” She sounded annoyingly excited by the prospect.

“Molly, really I’m fine. Thanks for bringing my stuff, but I need to get going,” John deflected, standing up, not knowing where he would go to try and look convincingly purposeful.

“Sure …” she sounded disappointed and confused but let him go.

As he walked away trying to quell that feeling of butterflies again, John was sure Molly would be convinced he was officially crazy. How was he ever going to attend a lecture again?


	13. Blog - Dream or Memory

_Blog entry – Dream or Memory_

_I had the strangest experience today. I fell asleep in my lecture and I dreamed. I don’t seem to dream much anymore, or I don’t remember them. But this felt real. I can’t explain it. A man with searing blue eyes and curls … reminded me of Sherlock actually, which is strange … and we were yelling and fighting over a car door and I could hear glass shattering … and I can’t piece together anything else. It left me very rattled and I’m not sure whether it was a memory – of my accident??? Or just a strange dream. But it definitely shook me._

_Oh yes, and Sherlock actually spoke to me today. I’d almost say he was being nice but that is too generous. He seems to think it's just my memory playing tricks. That because we have seen each other, I've inserted him into the dream. I'm not sure if it's true or not. I asked him if we knew each other and he left before I could find out more. I'd say he was acting weird but it's hard to tell with him. One minute he seems to be happy to talk, the next minute he treats me like worse than the filth beneath his shoe. I've never had so much trouble figuring someone out. It's maddening._

_I don't feel like I should tell Mary about the dream or let her read my blog anymore. I don't think she understands._


	14. Dorm room 221

John closed his laptop and decided to go and see Dr Adler to apologise. Still getting used to where everything was, he took the stairs to the second floor towards Lestrade’s office as his starting point. He was embarrassed to admit to himself that Sherlock had teased him about being an idiot if he couldn’t find her office, and now he was having trouble remembering exactly which one it was. There was a collection of offices for the science lecturers on the second floor. Walking by Lestrade’s office, the door was once again slightly ajar and John couldn’t help glancing in, overhearing voices in the room. A voice he recognised all too well – the smooth baritone, made him stop.

_“Surely you can’t expect me to continue …”_

_“Listen Sherlock, you get away with a fair bit because your brother has funded the research here. John is as welcome here as you are though. Money or not.”_

_“But … I can’t work with him. He’s clearly not up to my intellectual rigor, he won’t be useful to your research. He’s an idiot. You can’t expect me to …”_

_“Enough Sherlock. He’s here now. And making a scene isn’t going to help. I don’t agree with you. He’s made himself useful, he’s doing good work. Look how clean my desk is – and he found my paper! You couldn’t do that.”_

John’s ears were ringing at the mention of his name, and he was momentarily surprised to hear Sherlock had not taken the credit for the find. He knew he shouldn't keep listening, but he couldn’t seem to move.

_“Professor, honestly, couldn’t you just give him to Professor Adler or one of the others in the department …”_

_“Sherlock, how many assistants do you intend to scare off? You’re being unreasonable about this!”_

_“If you won’t move him on, perhaps I need to reconsider my position …”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been invaluable to my research and you know that. But I’m not bending on this. It’s about time you learnt to work with other people. You can’t survive in the science community without colleagues. It will be good for you.”_

_“Professor …”_

_“No, that’s my final word on this. Make it work.”_

John heard the familiar sounds of Sherlock huffing and moving quickly towards the door, so he hid behind the curve of a pillar just in time to miss Sherlock storming out of the room, slamming the door as he went. The thought that this egotistical man felt John was such an inconvenience – someone he didn’t even know – was mortifying. Why would his very presence cause such trouble? He knew he had a lot of catching up to do. But it burned his pride to think he was already thought to be incapable – without even being given the chance to try. All hopes of making amends with Dr Adler forgotten, he ran from the building.

When he finally reached his dorm, his lungs were aching from running. He climbed the final stairs slowly to his second-floor dorm, feeling out of breath and completely dejected, sucking in air desperately needed by his lungs. Even from downstairs, he could hear the sound of someone cursing in frustration echoing through the corridors. As he rounded the corner towards his dorm room, there in front of him was Sherlock, further down the same hallway, wrestling with a doorknob.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Why won’t you open? Unbelievable,” Sherlock cursed under his breath, his voice strong enough still to echo through the entire length of the corridor.

John stopped and thought about whether to help or whether to just go inside his dorm and ignore Sherlock. After all, that’s probably what Sherlock would do were the roles reversed. Knowing that he couldn’t leave someone in need, even someone as much of an ass hat as Sherlock, John walked up slowly towards him, watching the scene unfold as Sherlock tried to brush his mess of curls away from his eyes and tried the key several different ways. It gave John a kind of evil joy to see Sherlock struggling with something. He always seemed so in control and perfect and above the everyday mundane tasks the rest of the world had to cope with.

He cleared his throat, and Sherlock looked up in fright. When he saw John, his face dropped.

“Oh great. It’s you,” he said, contempt dripping from every syllable.

John gave him a rude smirk and seriously considered turning back around. “Having trouble?” he asked, as sweetly as he could, as he walked closer.

“The stupid lock won’t open!” Sherlock cursed, punctuating the thought with an extra shove at the lock as if that would help.

“Are you using the right key?” He couldn’t help feeling a thrill at the look his annoying statement brought out of Sherlock and he bit the insides of his cheek to stop the smile as he acknowledged he was being deliberately difficult. “Sorry, that wasn’t helpful. These old dorm doors can be a bit stiff.” John couldn’t hold it in and let out a little chuckle as he said it. “Is this your dorm?”

“No, I thought I’d break into someone’s dorm and find a quiet place to nap,” Sherlock sneered. John stared at him perplexed for a second, not sure if Sherlock was being sarcastic or serious. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the idiocy and the fact that John was considering it.

“Ugh, of course it’s mine. Are you staying here too?” he said in disbelief.

“Yes, just down the corridor – 215,” John pointed as he replied.

“Of _course_ you are,” Sherlock said to the ceiling as if cursing the universe.

“Have I done something to offend you in some way?” John queried.

“ _Sorry_?” Sherlock was perplexed.

“You just seem to be constantly annoyed that I’m breathing in the same space as you. I assure you it’s unintentional,” John said with a sneer back at him.

“Your _breathing_ is unintentional?” Sherlock asked with eyebrows raised. John huffed and relaxed his shoulders in defeat, not dignifying it with an answer. “May I?” he asked as he pointed to the door.

“Please.” Sherlock stepped aside allowing John access. They stood there not saying anything for a moment.

“The key?” John pushed.

“Oh right. Sorry.” Sherlock handed him the key. He seemed distracted, flustered, John thought to himself. His palm tingled when the key made contact with his skin, slightly warm from Sherlock holding it and he moved it around his palm looking at it for a moment and pondered the sensation.

“The trick is, you have to lift the door as you turn the key,” he said with renewed confidence. “They swell in the cold.” And with that the lock gave way and the door swung open. “There you go.” John had a satisfied smirk on his face.

Sherlock stood there unable to move. “John I …”

“It’s fine Sherlock. Happy to help. You don’t need to say anything.” He handed Sherlock back the key, clearly stopping any further need to talk.

John’s frustration with Sherlock had dissipated just by seeing how lost he seemed to be. Like the fact that someone would help him was unusual. It made John feel sad for him. But also, uncomfortable all of a sudden. He squared his shoulders and with that, he walked away, back to his room, leaving Sherlock in the hallway. Staring after him.


	15. Blog - Losing My Mind

_Blog entry – Am I Crazy?_

_Just when I thought things were improving, he wants to get rid of me. I heard him talking to Lestrade. I shouldn’t eavesdrop but the door was ajar and … well he doesn’t want to work with me it seems. I’m losing faith in whether this will work._

_But then, I met him at the dorms. He is staying on the same floor as me. I helped him open his door and he seemed … different. I find him confusing._

_Maybe I’m spending too much time thinking about him and I should focus on my studies. I am behind in my paper already._


	16. Mary Finds Out

6:02pm

**Mary:** John are you ready? M

The text brought John out of his thoughts. He tried to remember what he was meant to be doing – _oh the blog, right. What was I writing_? He thought vaguely to himself as he made to answer the message. He had been miles away.

6:02pm

**John:** Sorry what for? J

6:03pm

**Mary:** Our date John! I’m downstairs!

6:04pm

**John:** Oh god Mary I’m sorry. Come up to my room!

Mary stood in the open door and looked John up and down. She was dressed beautifully and date-ready and John felt guilty in his track pants and old shirt. As she stepped past him into the room, her perfume lingered on his senses and woke him from his foggy headspace.

“Oh Mary, I’m so sorry it’s been a _day_. I completely forgot,” John said sheepishly.

Mary didn’t even look disappointed as she came in. “Oh, your mother rang me and said to say hi – and that you should call her.”

“Of course she did. How does she speak to _you_ more than me?” John rolled his eyes. It was an ongoing joke between them, but one that irritated John all the same.

“Mary, I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m up for company tonight,” John said with defeat.

“Don’t be silly John, it’s fine. We can order in. Let me organise something. We can just sit together. Why don’t you pour me a wine? Tell me about this day you've had,” she encouraged.

He sighed and grabbed a bottle of wine and glasses from the small kitchen area, settled them on his bedside table, and poured out a glass for Mary before he handed it to her.

“Oh Mary, I fell asleep! In Dr Adler’s lecture.” John flopped down beside her on the bed, where she had settled herself, her coat draped beside her.

Mary stifled a laugh much to John’s annoyance. “I’ve heard she does that to people, don’t worry about it. You’re not the first.” She took a large, slightly undignified sip of her wine.

“It was mortifying, Mary. I woke up and called out! I had to leave the lecture. And I'm pretty sure I’ve embarrassed myself in nearly every meeting with Lestrade. No doubt he will be recommending I move departments soon enough.” He grabbed her glass from her hand, taking a sip out of it.

“Oi get your own!” she cried, grabbing it back. John never liked how Mary wouldn’t share.

He grabbed the bottle and second glass off the table and poured his own glass as he continued, “… and the Professor’s assistant has been a complete ass. He’s rude and awkward and difficult. Infuriating even. He won't work with me. Anyway, I overheard him asking the Professor to get rid of me. I’m just struggling to fit in.” John couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Well, what’s his name? Who does he think he is? Shall I hunt him down for you?” she laughed, not taking him seriously. It riled John up that his girlfriend never had his back. Not really.

“Oh, you wouldn’t know him, he’s this annoying eccentric scientist. He wouldn’t have drifted into the Arts area that would be well beneath him” John spat with more anger than he had intended.

Mary froze, her face turned pale.

“John, what does he look like?” Her voice sounded funny. Like she had spotted a large snake on the floor and didn’t want to startle him.

“I don’t know, tall, skinny, deep voice, dark curly hair, air of arrogance?” John described vaguely.

“Not _Sherlock_?” she said in a tone John couldn’t quite read.

“Yes! That’s him! How did you know? Is he the annoying customer that paid in coins? Oh, he seems just like someone that would do that! Please tell me that was him,” he scoffed, suddenly delighted at the thought.

But Mary leapt to her feet. “You’re working … _with Sherlock_?!” she yelled with incredulity.

“Yes why? Do you know him, Mary?” John was suddenly worried at her odd reaction.

“Uh, no. I’ve just heard of him, is all,” she said awkwardly. “You’re right. A complete ass from all accounts.” She tried to look casual but missed the mark. Putting her wine glass down on the table with finality, she stood up.

“John sorry, I actually … just remembered something. I had to meet a tutor tonight and it completely slipped my mind. I need to go. Sorry.” She grabbed her coat kissing him on the cheek. “You said you weren’t in the mood anyway. Probably best I get going.” And with that she walked to the door hurriedly.

“But you just got here!” John stood to follow her, confused still. “Are you sure? Is everything okay?” John put his hand on her arm, but she flinched away from it, clearly distracted, making him suspicious.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Mary said with too much pleasantry. “Sorry, John. I just … I have to go. I’ll make it up to you okay?” And before he had even acknowledged it, she was gone.

_It’s really starting to feel like I’m out of a loop somewhere_. He thought to himself, sculling the rest of his glass of wine.


	17. The Lab

After tossing and turning in bed for a couple of hours, John decided to get dressed and go for a stroll on campus. For the last few nights this had settled his racing mind, to walk around in the quiet. The cool air had settled a mist just above the well-manicured lawns, and John enjoyed the quiet of a university, usually full of so much bustle, struck silent in the early hours. It was so calming. He loved having the grounds to himself to just stroll and think, it helped clear his head. There were a few random lights on in different parts of various buildings, people working late, some lecturer marking assignments. The occasional security personnel walked by him and nodded a greeting. But otherwise, he basically had the whole campus to himself. Open space and peace.

He walked for an hour and somehow found himself passing by the science department. A light was on upstairs, so he walked into the building in search of it. On the fourth floor there was a lab, and as he walked by, he saw Sherlock working alone. He couldn’t resist the temptation and stepped inside. Sherlock didn’t even look up from his work as John walked over and looked at the papers strewn about. He picked up one of the pages which was closest to the edge of the bench and started reading, moving the page along his fingers playfully as he read.

That got Sherlock’s attention, and he looked up from his microscope, giving a double take at the realisation of who was disturbing him. His eyebrows drew together in a look of annoyance that was becoming very familiar to John, and he returned his focus back to the microscope, without a word.

“You’re researching the brain?” John commented.

“Yes. You’re up late,” Sherlock said, and John couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or impressed.

“Hmmm couldn’t sleep,” he offered, continuing to read the paper.

“You’re looking at memory and the brain? Interesting.” John tried to focus on the work.

“Is it?” Sherlock said, still avoiding eye contact.

“Yes, I think so.” He smiled.

“Well it’s just a side project, not the topic of my dissertation. Something I’m … looking into,” he replied vaguely.

“I see. You like to spend your days ignoring lecturers and the nights doing extra projects for enjoyment?” John teased.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, taking in a breath to speak and thought better of it, closing it again, and returning to his microscope.

“Sherlock, I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot,” John tried to offer.

“That implies one wants to get off on the right foot to begin with,” he replied smugly.

John huffed involuntarily. “Well I’d like to. Get off on the right foot, I mean.” He really did have a way of making interactions uncomfortable. Every day seemed like a new battle to John of making some headway with Sherlock only to go back to where they started.

Sherlock looked up at him for a moment. The lab stool making him slightly shorter and giving John the height advantage for once. Those blue eyes glaring right into him, making it hard for John to think.

“It’s not a good idea,” Sherlock said finally, returning his focus to the microscope as if this closed the conversation.

“What? Getting along with a colleague? In the same department? Not a good idea?” John teased.

“I don’t make friends. I don’t need them. I work alone. I’ve told you. You would do well to leave me to my work.” John couldn’t help but bristle at the rude remark.

“Right. Right, I see. Sorry to bother you.” He placed the paper on the bench and started to walk out but turned back on his heel toward Sherlock as he reached the door.

“You know, you don’t always have to be such an ass.” John let the thought hover in the air, and when Sherlock said nothing, not even to dignify it with a glance up, John left.


	18. Mary's True Colours

As John left the room, Sherlock let out a deep breath and squeezed his eyes tight. It didn’t do anything to improve how he felt so he reached out and pushed the papers from the bench in a sweep of his hand, knocking them to the floor. John's words echoing in his head over and over. After another deep breath, he tried to return to his work.

_Stay focussed_. He reassured himself. _You can ignore him. You don’t need him. It's better this way – if he hates you. It’s been five years and you’ve been doing fine. Just focus on the work._

It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep John at a distance. He was infuriatingly friendly. He couldn’t help but get to know the people around him. It used to be charming, in fact one of the reasons they had become friends in the first place. He was stubbornly loyal. Now it was making this even harder than he could have ever imagined. _Why? Why did he have to turn up here of all places?_

“What are you doing Sherlock?” The sneer in the voice was unmistakable. And Sherlock was snapped out of his thoughts. “You know you aren’t supposed to be anywhere _near_ John.”

“Hello Mary. I wondered how long it might take you to find me,” Sherlock sneered right back at her. Trying to sound more confident than he now felt. He tried to mentally calm the nerves in his chest. He had hoped they would not cross paths but of course she would need to intervene.

“I had to find you as soon as he mentioned you, I knew it must be you. Honestly, what do you think will happen here? He doesn’t remember you. You know that right?” Mary laughed and it was a cruel sound. Sherlock had to fight his every instinct to pretend it didn’t hurt.

“I know Mary. It was not my intention to …” he stuttered, wishing he sounded more confident.

“He’s mine now okay? _Mine_. We are happy.” She puffed her chest out as if to mock him.

“As happy as two people can be when they lie to each other, I suppose,” Sherlock countered proudly.

“Don’t be an ass. You had your time,” she said coldly.

“I’ve gone out of my way to keep him at a distance.” He hated that he felt he needed to justify anything to her. “I’m just here for the work. I’m not going to say anything,” he explained.

“You better not,” she threatened.

“Or what?” Sherlock asked with defiance.

“Or I will let the authorities know. You’re breaching the court orders,” she spat at him.

“I was here _first_!” he yelled in frustration, unable to contain himself, and then blushed realising how childish it sounded. “I was _here_ , Mary. I moved here to get away, to be _away_. Five years I’ve stayed away and not contacted him or even _seen_ him. _Five years_ Mary. You’ve had him all that time. I didn’t do anything. He just appeared out of the blue.” The desperation was clear in his voice. “What are you both even doing here?” he pleaded, and even he could tell how pathetic he sounded.

“Oh, don’t have an aneurysm,” Mary mocked, grabbing his papers from the floor and putting them up on the bench for him, smoothing them out, and there was something strangely threatening in the action. Sherlock knew very well that she wasn't doing it to be nice. “But Sherlock, he’s noticed you. I think he sees you as a bit of a puzzle to solve. Stay away from him. It’s not going to help him. You _know_ his family won’t allow it.” Mary knew she had all the power and was flaunting it in his face, he hated it. He hated her. More than anything.

“What are you so afraid of? We’re just working together, that’s all. We’re assisting Professor Lestrade. I shouldn’t imagine I should be much of a threat now that he has no memory.” Sherlock could see he’d stabbed her where it hurt most.

“I remember you two – from before. I’m not stupid. You had a strong connection. It’s sick. You should be ashamed. It’s a sick and sinful thing. We’ve fixed him now. He doesn’t _need_ you,” she spat in anger. Sherlock stepped back from her like he’d been slapped. The words stung. That people really still thought like that always hurt him, but that _John_ was now with someone like that made him so much angrier.

He refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much and raised his chin in renewed resolve. “Message received. Just keep him away from me too then. Do the job I’m assuming they’ve paid you well for,” he said coldly.

Mary just gave a grin before leaving him alone in the lab again, which answered his suspicions. And Sherlock felt sick.


	19. An Unexpected Visit

The knock at the door surprised Sherlock – he never got visitors. It made him pause for a moment.

“Come in?” he called tentatively from his table, where he was busily working at his microscope. He refused to get up from his work to open the door. Since the lab had been less than private, he had decided to shut himself away in his room for a few days and work in here.

“Uh … hi,” John said nervously as he reached his head awkwardly inside the door frame, taking in the room, looking for Sherlock, unsure if he was allowed to just open the door like that.

Sherlock just stared at him. John realised he wouldn’t be getting friendly conversation – as usual.

“Sorry I …” he began, stepping into the room, since Sherlock hadn’t stopped him yet. “Lestrade asked me to get these papers to you for marking. I said I’d check in. Make sure you weren’t locked inside or outside your dorm again.” John’s attempt at humour fell a bit flat and he cleared his throat nervously.

“Thanks. Just put them on …” he took in the mess on the table “the bed I suppose,” he directed, feeling slightly embarrassed at the state of his work cave.

“Working on an experiment?” John asked.

“It passes the time,” Sherlock noted casually.

“I see. Look I …” John began awkwardly.

“John, you don’t have to make conversation," he interjected, before John could get comfortable. "Really. I’ll let Lestrade know you passed these on,” he pointed at the bed.

“Actually, I also just wanted to apologise," John carried on, much to Sherlock's frustration. "I didn’t mean to snap the other night. It’s been a rough week settling in. It was rude of me to interrupt your research and then snap at you like that,” John said politely.

“And yet here you are _again_.” Sherlock stared at him, which made John begin to sweat uncomfortably.

“Yes well. I’ll leave you to it then.” John suddenly felt incredibly awkward and didn’t know how to communicate with this person before him. It seemed he could never quite get it right.

When Sherlock ignored him, he stood for a moment longer before he decided it was clearly the end of the conversation and he turned on his heel and left. After John closed the door to his dorm, Sherlock doubled over in his chair and let out some deep breaths. He had been wearing that blue jumper. Sherlock _loved_ him in that jumper. And he had looked so hopeful. He was trying so hard to make amends. It was painful to watch.

It took Sherlock a good half an hour to get his pulse under control as it raced rapidly. This was harder than even he thought it would be, to be around John and pretend he didn’t feel anything, that he didn't care at all. He certainly was used to treating most people that way no doubt, but never John. _Never John_. It was the hardest thing to do. And it was becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain his façade each time John tried to make a connection with him.

This was only going to get worse. With Mary watching as well, something was going to have to give sooner or later.

Sherlock took some deep cleansing breaths and finally refocussed back on the work. Always the work.


	20. Blog - Breaking Point

_Blog entry – My Breaking Point_

_The man is arrogant and impossible! I can’t keep doing this. I’m trying to be nice. I’ve tried. I’ve used all my tricks. He will not bend. I am going to have to ask to work with a different lecturer – perhaps Dr Adler needs a research assistant. If I have to keep banging my head against a wall just to make conversation with him – well it just isn't worth it, is it?_

_After the lab tomorrow, I'm going to see Professor Lestrade and tell him. This whole thing is hard enough without constantly having someone like that pushing back all the time._

_I'm looking forward to the lab tomorrow actually, I haven't seen Molly for a couple of days and boy do I need to talk this through with her._


	21. John's Tipping Point

Sitting alone at the lab desk, John became acutely aware of how isolated he was. Everyone paired up and chatting with friends they had made, now happily working together for labs. That was not his style – making friends wasn’t something he did well. Except his one friend. Who clearly was leaving him to be a loner, he thought despairingly, grabbing his phone out to message her.

8:55am

**John:** Molly where are you? JW

He glanced about the room, smiling weakly at a few people who gave him pitying looks. He fidgeted aimlessly with his phone until the reply buzzed in.

8:57am

**Molly:** So sorry. Woke up with migraine. Take notes! Mol

“Great,” he said under his breath to himself. Not only did he have to work alone, he had to be responsible for note taking which was not his strength. She knew that.

John was lamenting at having to do the lab work alone, considering leaving before Lestrade started the class, when a familiar dark figure swished in the door frame. John felt his heart simultaneously beat faster and drop all at the same time. This man was really messing with his head.

“Mr Holmes, nice of you to join us,” the professor said way too loudly. “There’s one spot over there beside Mr Watson.” He was clearly enjoying forcing them to work together.

They glanced across the room for a brief moment at each other and Sherlock looked as if he might leave, dread filled his face unveiled, on seeing John.

“Perfect,” he glowered, shaking his head as he walked toward the bench.

The colour rose in John’s face again. He was suddenly angry. Not only was this man intimidating, he somehow made John feel like he was in the wrong when he’d done nothing at all! It was enraging.

Sherlock sat with a more dramatic sigh than was necessary.

“You know what?!” John flared, unable to stop himself. Sherlock and the rest of the class all stopping to look at him. “I don’t need you. If it’s so _inconvenient_ that you have to spend time with me, we can work separately.”

Sherlock’s face opened up with a raised eyebrow and he looked John up and down.

“What?” he whispered directly at John, taken aback by John’s overreaction and trying desperately to not involve the entire class. But he knew inside he’d clearly pushed John too far.

“You seem determined to make me feel like I’ve put you out in some giant way. All I’ve done is try to be polite and fit in. It’s not my fault that Molly is sick, and I have no partner for the lab today. If it’s such an issue, we can work alone.”

“John, I …” Sherlock was embarrassed and shocked that John was happily announcing this to everyone with no inhibitions. He caught Lestrade giving him a look of warning. And he clearly didn't plan to intervene.

“No don’t bother. You’ve made it _perfectly_ clear that you don’t want to sit near me or work with me or talk to me for any extended length of time. Got it. Loud and clear. In fact, I’ll do you one better and _leave_. I wouldn’t want you to have to share the space with me!” He gave one last shout, grabbed his belongings and stormed out of the room.

Sherlock, mortified, endured comments and jeers from the other students in the room as he noticed Lestrade rubbing his hands over his face in disappointment.

_“Lovers tiff!” … “Good one Holmes.” … “Looks like you got dumped!”_

And even though he didn’t care what these imbeciles thought, it still stung because there was more truth than they knew. And he could see he was starting to break John too. Which was even worse.

He stood up again slowly. Lestrade caught his eye and nodded his head signalling Sherlock to _go and fix that_.


	22. The Library

Sitting in the library, John stewed over a textbook and tried to make notes, while aware he wasn’t properly concentrating. He thought over the last week. It truly didn’t feel worth it. All of this frustration. Not understanding what was going on around him. Feeling like he was an inconvenience when he had done nothing but breathe in the same space as this man. The work was hard enough to stay on top of without the distraction of him.

_Who was he anyway? Sure, he had amazing hair, and a voice that rumbled in the pit of your stomach, and those eyes were pretty spectacular …_

“John I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Mary landed in the chair beside him with an unglamorous thud, banging her hands on the table.

“Mary! Shhh it’s a library, they’ll get mad,” John whispered loudly at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous John, no one _really_ does that,” she scoffed.

“Well either way I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, annoyed – more that she had interrupted his day dreaming than anything to do with the work he was supposedly doing.

“You know John, you’ve been distant the last few days. Maybe we should go out for dinner, hmm? Make up for our missed date the other night?” she cooed at him, rubbing her hand along his arm enticingly.

“I know, sorry Mary. It’s not you. It’s just been a bit crazy, trying to figure out my place here,” John said apologetically.

“Great! That settles it then. Dinner. I’ll meet you at your dorm at six,” Mary said, ignoring his concern altogether.

“Mary I …” unable to think of an excuse he replied, “sure,” letting out a sigh of resignation.

“Great.” She gave her usual peck on the cheek and bounded off with a smile.

John watched her go with a sinking feeling in his gut. He wasn’t in the mood for a date.

“You really should tell her.”

John turned his head with a jolt, to find Sherlock sitting at the table right behind him reading a book, not making eye contact.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, turning his body on the chair towards Sherlock, unsure when he had placed himself there.

“You really should tell her you aren’t interested,” he said so certainly.

“How do you …? How long have you been sitting there?” John asked, squinting his eyes at Sherlock.

“Long enough,” he said casually.

“What happened to your lab?” John sneered.

“Boring. I’m well past that anyway. I decided I should find you … and apologise,” he said, sounding slightly pained passing the words out.

“ _Apologise_?” John did not expect that.

“Yes, I didn’t mean to … well that is to say, it wasn’t my intention to offend you,” Sherlock said formally.

“Really?” John said suspiciously, eyeing Sherlock up and down. _What was going on?_

“Of course not. I just prefer to work alone,” he said simply.

“I _heard_ you, you know,” John said pointedly at him.

“Sorry?” Sherlock was not sure where he was going with this.

“I was outside Lestrade’s office. You were complaining about me. The other day. I heard,” John accused him, hoping to make him feel guilty.

Sherlock sat and took that in and had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for? You don’t like me. You don’t want to work with me. I’m a big boy, I can take it.” John turned back to his book as if to carry on, letting Sherlock think he was dismissed.

“No that’s not it at all,” Sherlock countered.

“Then what? I’m not smart enough? Not rich enough? For you to deign to speak to me?” John spat, keeping his eyes firmly planted on his own books, afraid of the answer.

Sherlock chuckled and John bristled at the insult “You misunderstand me,” Sherlock said affectionately, as if they knew each other, as if John had endeared himself to him suddenly.

“Well you don’t make it very clear,” he mumbled to himself, mostly embarrassed.

“I …” Sherlock began but clearly didn’t know what to say next, so cleared his throat awkwardly instead.

“Sorry,” John said, and turned around to face him again. “That wasn’t _me_. I’m not normally such a twat. I’m just on edge this week. Not that I know who _me_ is exactly … Sorry.” John extended his hand as if to offer a shake of apology. Sherlock, as always, just ignored it.

“That’s a bit existential for this early in the day isn’t it?” he joked, standing and putting on his scarf and jacket. The move was clearly Sherlock’s way of letting John know they were done, and the apology had been acceptable.

John allowed a laugh to escape his mouth and he realised it had been the first time in the longest time he had let himself feel light enough to laugh properly like that. He looked Sherlock up and down trying to figure him out.

“Why are you so offended by me? I’m hardly going to compete for your top spot. I barely know what I’m doing, I’m just barely staying afloat in the classes and with the extra research,” John said with an air of acceptance at his failings.

“That’s not true. You’re actually pretty smart. I’ve read some of your writing,” Sherlock said kindly.

“You read my paper?!” John said defensively, caught off guard.

“Don’t be offended. I read everyone’s files. It was on Lestrade's desk, I couldn't resist. What you wrote was good. Really good,” he said as a statement of fact, more than as a compliment.

“Yes well, that was before. I don’t remember any of that now. I’m trying to get back on my feet and…well I could use some help.” John was slightly embarrassed at his admission. Especially to Sherlock.

“Coffee?” Sherlock confused John by the change in direction the conversation took so quickly.

“Sorry what?” he asked to confirm, brows knitted in confusion.

“Coffee. I’ve done the labs more than once; I can fill you in. Let’s take a break and get coffee,” to which Sherlock walked away, hands in pockets.

“You coming?” he called back to John, leaving him scrambling to gather his books and coat and follow behind.


	23. The Penny Drops a Little

The air in front of them filled with the condensation from their warm breath as they adjusted to the temperature outside, without speaking. The silence was calming, and John noted that it was unusual for him to feel comfortable just walking quietly like that beside someone else. Particularly someone he didn’t know well. He would usually feel the need to fill the space with idle chatter to feel less awkward. But today, it felt familiar and comforting. Finally, Sherlock broke the silence.

“So, amnesia then?” he asked, looking over at John.

“Yes. How did you … oh my file, right.” John’s mind was swimming with so many thoughts.

“How did it happen?” he asked John hesitantly.

“Don’t know. That’s sort of the point of amnesia, right?” John joked with a little huff of breath.

“Well I assume _someone_ told you though?” he pushed.

“My parents don’t talk about it. No one does. So, I kind of stopped asking. But ah … car accident I believe.” It was so odd after so long not talking about it to be discussing it so casually with this virtual stranger.

“Right. So, no memories … of _anything_?” John assumed Sherlock must be fascinated from a scientific point of view to be persisting with so many questions.

“Nope. Nothing.” John put his hands in his pockets as the cold started to sting his skin, in the hope that his inadequately thin jacket pockets would help a little.

The day was grey, and a thin veil of drizzle had set in. John had not dressed for the weather and would have to get back to his dorm and rug up soon, but the promise of a warm coffee was all that kept him going at this point.

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hummed in thought mostly to himself. John wondered what he was thinking.

“I’ve come to terms with starting life as a new person,” he said defensively, but it didn’t ring true when he said it aloud.

“Until the other day – the dream?” Sherlock reminded him.

“Well, yes. That threw me. I have accepted that there are no memories. I don’t even know if what I saw was real or imagined,” John offered.

“Hmm” he hummed back thoughtfully again, and John suspected Sherlock had some mental catalogue he was keeping. It was a little unsettling.

“So, you’re studying brain injuries for your thesis?” John tried to sound casual.

“No, it’s more of a … hobby of interest, than a serious topic. I have some experience,” he said a little flippantly.

“With brain injuries?” John was surprised.

“Not directly, no. With someone close to me. I’m doing some investigating out of personal interest. I don’t expect it will take me very far. It’s quite individualised. No two brain injuries seem to be mapped out the same way. It’s quite frustrating really,” he offered.

“Tell me about it,” John laughed, and realised again that it was the most he’d been able to joke for quite a while. This dark and frustrating colleague also brought out the humour in him, as well as irritation and it fascinated him.

“So, your girlfriend … Mary wasn't it?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded in answer. “She’s been there – from before the accident. And all the way through. There’s a certain…obligation I suppose, when you’ve been together so long and they’ve been supportive. She’s … well she’s lovely too of course,” John tried to justify. He could hear how it sounded.

“Obligation. How romantic.” He rolled his eyes and John could tell he was thoroughly unimpressed.

Thankfully, they were interrupted as they arrived at the coffee shop and awkwardly stood at the door, until Sherlock opened it for John.

_He really is tall_ , John noted, and at close proximity, he smelled of old cigarette smoke and an aftershave which was vaguely familiar and pleasant. John had no memory of being interested in men, but there was definitely something alluring about this unusual man that fascinated him. They stood awkwardly together in front of the menu and John started to panic.

“I don’t even know what I like,” John said nervously, as if Sherlock would judge him next on what coffee he drank. For some reason he wanted to impress this unusual man.

“Hmmm?” Sherlock hummed the question absent mindedly as he looked at the board and for a brief moment John felt very comfortable, domesticated. The smell of the wood floors, the coffee, the sounds of the machine, steaming the milk. He’d been in countless cafés but something about this moment felt very different. More familiar somehow.

“Coffee.” John cleared his throat hoping it didn’t come out sounding as stupid as it seemed, “I drink it, but I don’t even remember how I liked it…to order it. I always choose something and it’s never right. I’ve never found the coffee that makes me feel happy.” He realised he was talking too much all of a sudden in a nervous prattle and wondered to himself if caffeine was actually the best decision right now. But something in the way Sherlock was looking at him made him comfortable. Which was so odd considering how rude he had been all week.

“Why don’t you let me order you something then?” Sherlock said in a sort of sophisticated flurry, wallet already in hand.

“Sure. Can’t hurt,” he agreed – and gestured Sherlock forward to the cashier. John started to look around the café. It was nicer than the one Mary worked in. Lots of comfortable cushioned lounges in a variety of styles, colours and shapes in dark reds and blues, with low wooden tables designed to give the illusion of comfort and luxury, as if you might mistake this coffee house for your own lounge room and stay a while longer. Very trendy looking academics read library books that gave off that "old book" library aroma mixed with the coffee. It was somehow soothing. John's observations were interrupted by Sherlock’s voice as he began to order.

“He’ll have a half strength soy flat white, dash of vanilla.” John looked at him brow furrowed and uncertain. _He can’t be serious_. John thought. _That’s the most ridiculous coffee order I’ve ever heard and certainly something I would never pick_ and without a beat his mouth spoke before his brain could catch up.

“And _he’ll_ have a tall black, extra shot, two sugars, dash of cream,” John said gesturing at Sherlock.

Sherlock turned around to glance at John in shock.

“Oh sorry, that just came out.” John looked stunned.

The cashier was enjoying this odd interaction with delight. Standing silently his eyes darted between the two in their interaction, waiting to see the outcome of the curious pair.

“No no, s’fine. It’s … good,” he said as he opened his wallet and nodded to the cashier in indication that the order was fine, pulling out a bill to pay for the coffees.

“You don’t have to …” John began awkwardly.

“No, my shout,” Sherlock said calmly.

“I meant the coffee order; I don’t know why I …” John felt embarrassed that he tried to order for Sherlock. Of all the people to start pulling crazy stunts with.

“No really. It’s perfect, John,” he said quickly, and he frowned slightly into his wallet, before making eye contact again with John. “It’s perfect …” his voice a little clipped and John could have sworn there was a bit of moisture in Sherlock's eyes.

John was confused. _Had Sherlock not had someone order for him before_? It seemed like a very odd thing to be emotional about, but John didn’t mention it. He was more embarrassed than anything. And it was the first nice moment they had really shared.

“I’m sorry, really. I don’t know why I …” John shook his head and chastised himself. “Where did that even come from? I can barely order my _own_ coffee correctly, let alone throwing out someone else’s order. These cafés have always made me anxious, so many decisions. So many opportunities to have the wrong drink yet again.” He realised he was rambling again.

“Good guess?” Sherlock offered, calmly, but something in the way he looked at John clearly said that wasn’t it at all.

They walked in silence together to find a table. John, lost for words at his own outburst. Sherlock, lost in thought. They didn’t speak another word, just looked at each other in silence. John took the moment to really look at Sherlock’s eyes again. They were the most magnificent eyes he’d ever seen. Alternating between a deep blue and a slight green depending on the light, and where he moved his head. And with that slight dab of moisture in them, the blue was remarkably more bold than usual, like the colour of the ocean during a storm. He realised he had stared too long and not said anything, so John blurted out a banal attempt at conversation, “Mary works at the other café. On the other side of campus. You know the one?”

“The coffee’s not as good there. They always overheat the milk,” he retorted bluntly.

John smiled to himself. “I thought that too. She hasn’t ever made a coffee I liked.” John giggled to himself shaking his head and then looked up at Sherlock, who was watching him carefully and smiled too.

The order arrived, and John took a first sip and closed his eyes as the taste of the warm milk touched his lips. _This is it. This is my coffee_. The soy milk didn’t have the sickly sweetness of cow’s milk, but the vanilla just gave it that hint of something that reminded him of … something. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He let out a breath and opened his eyes to Sherlock watching him intently.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” John let out the words in an almost sexual groan.

Sherlock just watched and didn’t react. He already knew.

“That’s the first time I’ve liked coffee in years! How did you know?” John exclaimed with a dreamy smile.

“I deduced,” Sherlock stated matter of factly, almost smugly like it should make sense.

“Deduced?” John queried.

“Yes, it’s a thing I do. Most people don’t like it though, so I don’t do it often, at least not out loud,” Sherlock said in a rush.

“I’m sorry you’re going to have to explain that,” John said, creasing his brow in an attempt to think harder to understand.

“Maybe another day. Just enjoy your coffee,” he hummed as he sank back into the soft chair, sipped at his coffee, eyes shut, looking contented.

They sat in silence for a bit longer. John lapped up the coffee with pleasure and Sherlock seemed okay with his own order, which was a big relief to John, although he could not figure out how. As much as he wanted to just sit and enjoy the moment, he couldn't let it go and as he tried to process it, he needed to verbalise it.

“I knew your coffee,” John said suddenly breaking the silence.

“Hmmm?” Sherlock asked absently still with his eyes shut, like he was avoiding answering.

“I knew _your_ coffee order though. I don’t deduce people – whatever that means,” John pushed.

“Lucky guess,” he said

“Not likely,” John replied quickly, suspiciously.

Sherlock opened his eyes and gave John a slightly annoyed but still charming look. He sat back up straighter in his chair as he realised John wouldn't let this go. They both sat there looking at each other. He clearly refused to dignify John’s questions with a clear answer, in fact it became almost uncomfortable, the fact that he wouldn’t say anything about it at all. About this odd exchange. Like they did this all the time … like they had done it a million times before … like … suddenly something sank in John’s gut and he knew it to be true. Like a penny had suddenly dropped.

“Oh god. You _do_ know me. Don’t you?” he finally declared, as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair with the realisation.

Sherlock sat with this information for a long time, a multitude of emotions clearly crossed his face as he realised what was being asked before he offered a simple,

“Yes.” Just a simple, single word, and the butterflies started up in John’s gut. His whole world had suddenly turned upside down with that one syllable.

“This _is_ how I like my coffee,” he stated. Not a question. He knew it to be true now. _No one could guess that ridiculous order without knowing it._

“Yes.” No emotion. Just a clear agreement. His expression didn’t change. He seemed resigned to this now.

“And you _know_ that it is my order, not a bloody _deduction_ ,” John pushed.

“Yes.” Another statement. This time a bit softer though. _Maybe guiltily?_

“And that is what _you_ always order, so I _know_ it too. Because we've done this before.” The thought was making John very nervous, but he had to know.

Sherlock hesitated this time and looked down, but still didn’t move a muscle. He just raised his eyebrows, his forehead creasing, as he looked into his lap. “Yes.”

Each acknowledgement like a dagger in John, the admissions shocking and almost hurtful.

“We _know_ each other. From before.” His breathing had started to speed up as he became very nervous about where this was going. The silence between them was so still he felt like everyone in the café could hear his nose taking in the air in big huffs of emotion – not sure if he wanted to cry or scream.

“Yes.” Sherlock moved to cross one leg over the other and seemed to be almost enjoying watching John figure out the puzzle finally. John didn’t know what to think about that. That feeling that he had seemed familiar, the eyes, the smell, those curls. _John knew this_. He knew it all along but to hear it be so completely agreed with, no additional information, began to make him unravel. And he felt the colour drain out of his face. _All this time he has been pretending not to know about me and asking me questions. All this time._

“You lied,” John said finally, coldly.

He took in a deep breath and let out a sigh as if deciding whether to answer. “… John.” Sherlock didn’t need to say more. John understood this was confirmation.

“Why didn’t you …” John began loudly.

“ _John_ …” he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward shaking his head signalling for John to be quieter.

“No! _Why_ didn’t you say something? That first day,” John pushed on but in a loud whisper this time.

“John, it’s been _years_ ,” Sherlock tried to say.

“Yes, it has,” John nodded, coldly.

“ _Five_ years,” Sherlock pushed on.

“Yes. I’m _well_ aware, Sherlock!” his voice rose in frustration. John saw movement out of the corner of his eye as people around them started looking and whispering so he settled down in his chair again. “We were friends?” John whispered.

Sherlock hesitated and closed his eyes as he said “… Yes.” Something in the way he hesitated made a shiver go down John’s spine.

“My dream. In the lecture. You _were_ there. You were _there_. When it happened.” John’s voice started to fail him as emotions from something long put to bed were rising in him. His foot started to twitch nervously on the floor. The coffee long forgotten now.

Sherlock hesitated again. “ _John_ …” he pleaded as he tilted his head to the side in a symbol of pity which frustrated John even more.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” John said through gritted teeth, trying not to let people around them hear.

“John. I don’t think it’s a good idea to …” Sherlock began, and fidgeted with his hands as he concocted his excuse.

“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me anything? What was this today? Some kind of game at my expense?!” His voice rose slightly along with his heart rate and the heat in his face.

“You said so yourself, John. You’ve moved on. You’re a new person. I didn’t expect to see you again. When you arrived, I tried to avoid you. I thought it would be better if …” he didn’t know how to finish. This was suddenly more information than John expected.

He let out a huff of air and nodded to himself and spat, “Well that’s just perfect.”

Sherlock didn’t take his eyes off John. There was an unexpected intensity there that made John blush slightly and he noticed tears starting to well up in Sherlock's eyes again. Now it made sense that he seemed to get emotional before, when John ordered the right coffee and that just made him even madder.

He let out a huff. “Your _friend_? With the brain injury? That’s _me_?!” he yelled.

Sherlock didn’t dignify it with an answer, but John spotted the guilt as it crossed his face.

They sat glaring at each other, at an impasse. The hustle and bustle of the café had slowed, and they were both certain some of the workers and patrons had deliberately gone quiet to hear this fascinating domestic, but John couldn't stop himself. Finally, the anger got the better of him.

He stood up, knocking the table and the coffees over, so angry the words menacingly quiet and forceful. “I can’t sit here. I don’t know what this is about, but I can’t do this. With you.” He briefly looked awkwardly at the mess as Sherlock bent down to start wiping at it with a napkin. He looked back up at John trying to decide whether to clean or to explain.

“John …” he began again.

“No, no. Sherlock. I think I need to go.” John began walking out and offered a weak, “sorry” mouthed to the amused barista as he rushed over to help clean up the mess. He heard Sherlock offering his own apologies and the muffled giggles and gasps of the patrons as he stormed out the door, not looking back.

As he walked by the large window of the café, from the outside, he sensed in his periphery, Sherlock standing and watching him go from within.


	24. The Mysterious Brother

John stormed out of the café determined to go as far away from there as he possibly could. The drizzle had settled and, as if to mock his mood, the sun had even poked its head between some clouds to make the day brighter. It only irritated him further that his mood could be so dark and yet the sun could be shining right now.

Further ahead, and slightly off to the side of the path, shaded by a large tree, John found a park bench. As his brain registered the bench, his body suddenly felt impossibly weary. John pondered if perhaps he had begun to go into shock. He just needed to stop, right now. And assessing that it was far enough out of view from the café not to be spotted if Sherlock came looking, he took the chance and slumped down, huffing to himself in frustration. The earlier drizzle had only slightly affected the bench. He figured he was cold enough already anyway. Dampening the back of his pants was a worthy price to be able to stop for a moment and breathe. He would head to his dorm soon and change once he had a moment to rest. And think.

He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or scream but his brain was whirling out of control. He definitely needed to know more. At the same time, the idea made his brain want to melt. How had he spent all this time with Sherlock and not known him? How could Sherlock not tell him? Who else was hiding things from him? His body felt drained just from the brief interaction at the café and all the afterthoughts that were now attacking him. The buzz from the caffeine had started to take hold too, making him somehow more alert at the same time. He sat and just wallowed briefly in this agitated state, before the urge to go back to the café and confront Sherlock took over. He knew yelling at him more probably wouldn't help, _but god it felt good to just get it off his chest_ – years of uncertainty and frustration he had been holding on to. And if Sherlock was the only physical person he could spew those emotions at, he couldn't resist the urge to let it out. He knew that was probably unfair. But right now, he was raging. And he couldn't calm that urge.

He was so deep in thought, mentally preparing himself to go back, when a man sat beside him on the bench breaking his focus. Well dressed in a three-piece suit, with combed hair, umbrella in hand, a proper gentleman.

“I understand your predicament, _John_ , but it’s probably best you don’t take this further.” There was an unmistakable smugness to his voice. A finality that rubbed John instantly the wrong way. And it unnerved him that this stranger knew his name.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” He wasn’t sure he could take more surprises today.

“An interested party,” he said, twirling his umbrella around in his hands and readjusting his feet in their place, as if to ensure John noticed his impressive leather shoes that John clearly could never afford.

“You know me _too_?” John said in annoyance.

“I know everybody. I assure you, _you_ aren’t special,” he drawled.

“Well it’s always nice to be brought back to reality. Thanks for that. I mean, but seriously, what is your interest exactly?” John asked trying his best to sound more confident than he felt.

“You can’t be seen with Sherlock.” It was a clear statement.

“What are you, his sugar daddy or something?” John blurted out, no idea where the thought came from, _but honestly, who was this guy_?

“Oh please. I’m his brother.” The word was like a slap to the face and John’s brain stopped short.

“His _brother_?” John couldn’t even comprehend that the stylish and slightly chaotic man he had apparently been friends with could be related in any way to this smug older being.

“Yes, _older_ brother. I look after him. He doesn’t need you as a complication in his life. I would like you to leave him alone if that’s possible. Happy to compensate you if required.” The confidence in that statement really riled John – like he could simply be bought off so easily.

“We’re working together with the Professor.” John wanted him to understand. Just work. Why should that matter?

“Yes, against my better judgement I allowed him to transfer here. I've been slightly remiss lately in my observations. I didn’t realise you had ended up here and were working together so closely. I admit I hoped he would be able to stay safely away from you. Silly of me, really. It hadn’t occurred to me you would be the new assistant.” He glanced up into the sky as if an answer to his failures would be found there.

“I'm sorry I really don’t understand what’s going on here. I just met him last week.” John tried to cover the lie. After all, up until an hour ago John believed it, and how was this lunatic to know any different.

“No.” A flat statement with no wiggle room allowed. Clear and concise. John started to notice the family resemblance.

“No?” John asked, hoping he would elaborate.

“No John. You knew Sherlock very well. I went to great lengths to remove my brother from the … _situation_. At great cost to him and to our family. Records were sealed. He was relocated. I assure you, it’s best if you walk away from this. The less you know the better.”

John had to admit – only to himself – that it stung. _Situation? Was I a situation?_ The weight of his words was too much to bear.

“Is that what _he_ wants?” he asked nervously.

“He doesn’t know what’s best for him, he never has,” the man said, with a small smile. There was something in the way he said the words though. John couldn’t decode whether it was sadness or pure poison.

“Oh, and _you do_ , I suppose? Know what’s best for him?” John challenged. Suddenly feeling protective without even knowing what of.

“I think I do, yes,” the man said proudly, lifting his chin a little competitively. John would have chuckled at the childishness of it, but it was definitely not funny.

“We’re not _children_. We’re adults. Surely we can decide whether or not we can speak to each other?” John offered, with only mildly more confidence.

“Judging by how _that_ went in there with him, just now, I gather you’re not thrilled yourself.” _Touché_. He _did_ know about the conversation. Was he some kind of spy? Had he been in the café listening with everyone else? The conversation made John feel very unsettled.

“I’m … I’m in shock. I’m coming to terms with information I didn’t know before today. But I’m nearly thirty years old. I’m not going to let some …” John looked him up and down deliberately while he thought of the best insult “… _some pompous ass_ in a suit tell me how to live my life. That’s for damn sure,” he spat.

“John. I know it seems cruel. But it’s honestly not going to help Sherlock if you unravel this. Be reasonable. Please, take my advice and stay away from him.” He stood as if to signal the conversation was nearly over, brushing off his coat and straightening his waistcoat.

“But we _work_ together,” John sputtered as if that would be any kind of argument.

“Yes. That should never have happened. I will ensure you can be reassigned.” He grabbed out his phone and started typing a message as if he was already on the case. John half expected a van with men in dark suits to pull up and drag him away. John stood and tried to assert himself and prepare for danger if it was coming.

“Look. I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are, but I don’t _want_ to be reassigned. This is the first time in years I feel in control of my situation. I don’t want you to change a thing,” he said as strongly as he could manage, but the brother was definitely the taller of them and he ended up just feeling more pathetic for having tried.

“John things were arranged. Decisions were made. Before you even arrived here.” He returned the phone to his pocket and looked back at John.

“Who are you _really_?” he asked in a last ditch of hope that perhaps this had all been a lie.

“I told you. Sherlock is my brother. And I am protecting my brother,” he sneered.

“From _me_?” John asked, confused.

“Partly, yes. And from himself.” He straightened his suit and was clearly just humouring John now.

“Well, you can sod off. I’m not sure who you _think_ you are, but I don’t take threats well. And I’m not going anywhere,” he snapped. “We’re done here.”

And with that John stormed away with purpose back towards the café. A part of him hoped desperately Sherlock was still there, and he began to pick up his pace until he was running. He wasn't even sure why, but he needed to see him.

He stopped outside the café window, glancing in frantically, eyes searching the space, but Sherlock was already gone.


	25. Blog - No words

_Blog entry – There Are No Words_

_I can’t even think how to write this. He knows something. He knows me. All this time … he’s been toying with me. And then his brother arrives and threatens me to stay away? I’m furious. I am going to have to confront him about it. I’ve sat here for hours thinking and I can’t put it in to words. I can’t do my work either. I’m going to go and talk to him. I’m supposed to go on a date with Mary tonight and I just, I can’t. I can’t even think about that right now. I need to yell and scream or punch something. How has this happened to me? It’s so huge I don’t even think I can tell Molly right now._

_Do I stay? Do I leave? Do I confront him and demand more answers? I have no idea what he thinks of me right now._

_A part of me needs to know more about my past, about what happened – things no one else will talk to me about. But a part of me never wants to see him again. EVER._


	26. Where is John?

John slammed his laptop shut and got up to pace his room. He decided that he must go and talk to Sherlock, so he grabbed his jacket and checked his phone.

“Shit.” There were three messages from Mary and two from Molly and a voicemail.

11:36am

**Molly:** John are you ok? Greg said you and Sherlock had a fight in the lab and you both left? Call me! Mol

1:22pm

**Mary:** Hi love just checking you haven’t forgotten the date this time. I’ll be around at 6. M x

1:41pm

**Molly:** Seriously John. I’m worried. My phone’s on silent while I rest but at least send me a message! It’s Molly. Your FRIEND. Just in case you’ve forgotten

2:00pm

**Mary:** Ok John seriously, could you message me back, so I know we’re going out. I’m getting ready. Let me know.

3:30pm

**Mary:** This is ridiculous. Where are you?

3:53pm

**Voicemail:** Yeah … uh John, It’s Professor Lestrade. Just uh … just wanting to make sure you’re okay. Sherlock can be a bit of a cock sometimes (chuckle). I mean I think you’ve seen that already. He means well. He just doesn’t know how to deal with sharing work with other people. He’s always giving my new student’s a hard time. If anyone can get along with him, I think it’s you … Anyway, I uh … just wanted to make sure you hadn’t killed each other this morning. Molly was … Molly was worried and said she hadn’t heard from you. Sherlock isn’t answering my calls either. Let me know you’re okay. Or I’m in my office this evening if you need to drop in.

John hung up the voicemail with guilt. He didn’t want to speak to any of them. He paced a bit more before stopping in the middle of the room. Of course, he couldn’t leave them hanging. He quickly fired off his replies:

5:43pm

**John:** Mary I can’t see you tonight. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll come by the café tomorrow ok? J x

5:44pm

**John:** Molly I’m fine. Just rest ok? Of course I know you’re my friend, you git. I can’t believe you asked the prof to check on me. You two must be getting on well then? You can tell him we’re ok. Both still alive ok?

John took a few cleansing breaths in and out, put his jacket on and locked his phone to put it firmly in his pocket. He grabbed his key and steeled himself in readiness to walk down the corridor to 221 and start the search for Sherlock.


	27. Confrontation

John stood outside the door to 221. It wasn’t closed properly – slightly ajar – and he wondered if Sherlock was still having issues with the lock, or if he had not shut it properly on his way in. He tried to listen carefully for sounds inside. For a brief moment, he was flooded with affection for this man who drove him crazy. _They were friends_. He had a real friend. Someone who had known him for a long time. Someone who had answers about him. The prospect was a bit exciting. But then it flashed before his eyes, this week of torment. The way he had made John feel so insignificant.

He had lied. He had pretended.

He had been so awful, and John’s anger began to build again. His fists opened and closed, in an attempt to settle himself which failed miserably. And his brother?! What had that been about? John’s rage now growing at an alarming rate until he couldn’t keep it in anymore. He pushed at the door and stormed in, fists clenched by his side and ready for a fight.

“You have known me this _whole time_ and you’ve been treating me like rubbish all week!” he let out in a loud gush. Sherlock looked up, shocked at the outburst.

“John,” he said calmly. Just like that. John finally took in his surroundings. Sherlock had a suitcase out and belongings strewn about the floor and on the bed. He was packing.

“What are you doing?” John said, annoyed that this had interrupted what he had come to say.

“What does it look like?” Sherlock said, continuing to fold clothes into the case, carefully, ignoring John’s tone of voice and not making eye contact, which only fuelled his anger further.

“It looks like you’re packing,” John said, his voice falling flat.

“Clever. Very clever." Sherlock offered with a nod. "The professor will be just fine with you assisting him alone after I go. I told him as much when I handed in my withdrawal letter,” he finished with an air of formality, still not looking at John.

“Your withdr … wait, where are you _going_?” John said frantically, walking forward. His heart beating faster. He didn’t know why this was suddenly affecting him so much. Why was he so upset by the news?

“It’s for the best I think, don’t you?” Sherlock stopped to look up at him finally, hands paused on his pile of clothes.

“ _No_. No I don’t think that at all.” John walked quickly to reach Sherlock’s side, and put a hand over his to stop him packing. Sherlock paused to look at John’s hand on his and for a moment he didn’t move.

“John.” He looked at John again this time with a look that said he should already understand, but John didn’t.

“No. Sherlock, this is ridiculous. Where are you going?” John insisted.

“I can’t stay here. With you. I just … _can’t_. Not now that you know,” he offered, as if that made any sense, sliding his hand back out from under John’s. He sounded resigned to the fact and a little sad. John didn’t like it at all. Everything had changed so much in a matter of hours and he was still trying desperately to keep up.

“Why ever not?!” John raised his voice. “I don’t understand this at all Sherlock! What is going on?” He moved away to the other side of the room where there was space so he could pace out his nervous energy. “Is it your brother? Because I’ve already told him …”

“Wait … my brother?” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed with calculating force. “ _You saw him?_ ”

“Yes, he’s a delight,” John huffed. “Wants me to stay away from you. I told him to sod off.”

Sherlock hesitated, “You … you did?”

“I did. No one tells me what to do. I run my own life thank you,” John said with a nod of his head to illustrate his stubbornness. “Apparently people don’t talk to him like that often.” He rolled his eyes, the very memory of the conversation irritating him further.

“John,” Sherlock said, almost scolding but John noticed an almost smile crept at the corner of his mouth in what seemed like satisfaction, pride even.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here,” John began, as he paced more on the carpet, “but I don’t have many people in my corner. I needed a new start. I needed _this_ to work. And I need to know that I _can_ start over. I don’t know anything from before. But _you do_. And I don’t even really know if I want to know anything about that.” John stopped pacing and looked at him, hopeful. “But I feel like it would be nice to have you in my corner.”

Sherlock stood on the spot and chewed on his thumb nail deep in thought, head down. The silence was torture to John. Just when he thought Sherlock wouldn’t say anything, he spoke, "don’t you think that’s a bad idea? If you’re starting fresh?” he offered, his voice quiet and insecure. John had never seen him this unsure.

“Maybe,” John nodded, “but it feels right. I knew when I saw you in the office that first day. I knew there was something about you …”

That seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, as suddenly Sherlock seemed to panic, and it was like a switch was flicked.

“John I can’t!” He started pacing on his side of the room. “I … the last five years, I can’t tell you about that. But it wasn’t good. Not for me. I’m starting fresh too. Don’t you see? I don’t want to go back.” His voice started to break as he got through his explanations. “You’re right, I’ve been … difficult this week, because I’ve been trying to keep you at a safe distance. For both of us. I was never supposed to tell you I knew. I was never even supposed to see you again.”

“I don’t understand,” John interrupted him.

“You don’t have to. You just have to believe me and trust me,” he said simply.

“I do.” In that moment John knew it was the truth. And they both stopped pacing and registered the admission. “I _do_ trust you. I don’t even know why. But I do.”

Sherlock gave a small hint of a smile that briefly lifted the edges of his mouth. He liked that, that John trusted him. It appeared to give him comfort.

“Right. Well then hear me,” he said, as he walked over to John to force the point, arms outstretched in a plea. His voice regained some strength. “ _This_ is the best thing. For me to go,” he said matter-of-factly. My brother has made arrangements for me to transfer. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“No.” John said without thinking. This is not what he wanted Sherlock to say. He didn’t even know why.

“No?” he asked, sounding like a parent scolding a disobedient child.

“No,” John said stubbornly, raising his chin to make the point. Sherlock dropped his head in frustration at John’s stubbornness. “You heard me. I won’t be responsible for you throwing away what you are achieving here. If anyone is going to go, it should be me.” Sherlock looked up at that, surprised. “I’ve barely started here. I can transfer,” John finished.

“No John. No, I don’t want that,” Sherlock pleaded.

“Well what _do_ you want then? I mean honestly!” John gasped out in frustration. “One minute you look like you are going to punch me if I step in your personal space, or you run away from me. And the next minute you are looking at me with _those eyes_ and I can’t explain it. Like you’re trying to _will_ me to remember. It’s driving me crazy not understanding what’s going on. At least tell me what you know!” John shouted.

“That’s exactly why I should go. John, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be told,” Sherlock said and it shocked John that he could be that selfish.

“Don’t _I_ get to decide what’s best for _myself_?” John couldn’t help his voice rising in more anger.

“Not in this case, no,” he said, and John started to feel his temper reaching boiling point.

“This is bloody ridiculous! Does Lestrade know me too? Is everyone in on it?” he yelled.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not a conspiracy,” Sherlock scoffed, and John bristled at being mocked. “He knows a vague outline of the situation. I filled him in,” he said with a formality that didn’t help.

“Well I’d settle for a vague outline at this point!” John mocked back, “I mean what exactly _is_ the situation? Are you spying on me, have you been stalking me?!”

“No of course not,” Sherlock let out a laugh, “I moved universities after your accident. It was …” Sherlock sighed and sat on the bed suddenly looking weary. “It was too hard to be back there reminded of it all every day. I needed to …”

“Start fresh?” John offered with a hint of acidity. _Can’t he see this is exactly what I am trying to do as well? Why can’t he see that?_

“Yes,” he said with a nod of agreement, looking at John guiltily.

“So, you came here,” John stated. His blood pressure was steadying again as the tension in the room settled and he hoped approaching Sherlock more calmly might get some answers.

“Much to my brother’s disgust, yes. Not really up to the family’s standard. But he helped smooth it over. Paid some money to the right people. I’ve been here years now and worked my way up to where I am. I’m happy here,” he stated, and John had to admit it stung a bit. Whatever they had been to each other in that other time, Sherlock had been able to move on and start over and here John was alone, lost, and now he may lose a new connection to that time. To getting some answers.

“I never thought you would turn up here, John. If your parents knew I was here …” he began and suddenly the rage in John was back as soon as he mentioned the parents. His parents who had clearly lied and hidden things.

“Sherlock you have to tell me,” he pleaded.

“I can’t John. I _can’t_ ,” he emphasised, “I _really can’t_!” Sherlock stood again. “Please don’t ask me to.”

“I don’t understand,” John tried to keep his voice calm, “of course you can. Just _tell_ me,” he tried to coax.

“When your accident happened, John, there was a lot of things that came out. A lot of _ugly_ things. There was a court case. There was a lot of fighting. I didn’t cope very well. I went off the rails. My brother took over and paid people a lot of money to seal records and separate us, and we were not to have contact any more. It was agreed upon. By both families. By the courts. We can’t _both_ be here.” Now John was really scared. This was more serious than he had realised.

“Sherlock. I’m really asking,” he said with new purpose. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter what happened, don’t you see?” he said desperately. John could see the beginnings of frustrated tears in Sherlock’s eyes and it hit him that this was hurting them both. “ _You_ don’t remember. I have to live with that for the rest of my life. It was hard enough before, but I can’t stay here with you, and see you like _this_. Let alone the fact that we were court ordered to have nothing to do with each other!” His voice broke and a tear escaped down his face, tracing its way to his chin.

“That’s bullshit. I can’t believe this. What do you mean?” He ignored the pang of guilt at attacking him when it was clearly causing him pain. “So, you’re not allowed to even talk to me? We’ve been talking all week!” he shouted, as if breaking Sherlock’s arguments would somehow make him confess all.

“I’ve been _trying_ to avoid you! Don’t you see?! John, it really doesn’t matter. _It is what it is_ , and I can’t stay. It’s become too hard to keep my distance. I thought I could, but I can’t,” he wiped the moisture from his face, regaining some composure.

“No. No. I can’t have you tell me those things and then leave. I don’t know anything or anyone from that time. No memory. Except Mary. And she won't say anything either. And now I find out _you_ know things. You know _me_. I’m not letting you just go!” John yelled stubbornly.

Sherlock started pacing again. His breathing increased and John pictured him for a moment as a caged wild animal desperate for escape. His eyes wild and his curls jutting out at odd angles from where his hands kept raking through them in frustration.

“John you need to leave,” he said more forcefully, stopping on the spot again to feign control, “before my brother gets here.”

“No.” John crossed his arms and puffed his chest out in defiance. “He doesn’t scare me.”

“He should. I mean it, you need to leave.” He pointed at the door frantically with a pleading look in his eyes. He looked more desperate by the second, but John thought maybe he could break through and find out what he came for.

“No. I’m not going anywhere until you explain what’s going on. What all this is about!” he pushed harder.

“John I can’t. I _can’t_!” His voice broke again on the last word and John realised how much Sherlock was visibly struggling to contain himself. He began eyeing the door and edged towards it in an effort to leave the room, but John stepped to the side and pushed the door shut barring his escape.

“No. You’re not going. I’m not going. Not until you tell me,” he said with a low growl.

“Well you’ll be stuck here for a long time because I can’t. I won’t,” Sherlock said. _Lord he’s more stubborn than me. How is he more stubborn than me?_ John could understand why they must have been friends. He wondered briefly in that moment why Mary had never mentioned him before.

“You want to tell me. I can see it,” John stated, in an attempt to trick it out of him.

“John …” Sherlock was clearly unsettled by the change in direction.

“Sherlock I’m not mucking around. I can’t do this without you. Tell me.” He tried to use his eyes to show Sherlock how much this meant to him. It must have worked. Sherlock began pacing again, hands combing through his hair, eyes squinted firmly shut as if he could will himself out of the room by magic.

John realised he may just cut through to him yet. He leaned his weight backwards on the door to show he wouldn’t let Sherlock leave.

“John _please_ ,” he pleaded, “you have to let this go. Forget this conversation. Forget I said anything. I’m going to leave, and you can’t stop it. It’s for the best,” Sherlock whined.

“For who’s best? For _yours_? For _mine_? Who _wants_ this?” John pushed back, “because _I_ don’t. Do you? I want to spend time with you. I _know_ that I know you. How do I know you, Sherlock?” John tried to gentle his voice to coax Sherlock back in.

“I can’t,” he turned away giving John his back, stubbornly.

“Of course you can. How do I know you?” John raised his voice, “and why hasn’t Mary said anything about you?”

That struck a nerve as Sherlock turned back towards him. “John. Don't,” he fired a fierce look of warning, but his eyes were filled with renewed tears.

“Sherlock.” John let it sit in the air stubbornly for a moment, the two of them glaring at each other.

“ _How_ Sherlock? How do I know you?” John pushed, renewing the question.

Sherlock sniffed as the tears started to track down his face again.

But he pushed on, “Sherlock just tell me!”

“I mean it, John. I can’t and I _won’t_ do it … not even for _you_.” He wiped tears away hurriedly with his shirt cuff and looked at the ground in guilt.

“Not even for _me_? For _me_? Jesus Sherlock! What the hell do you mean?! You make it sound like … Stop this. Stop it right now! How do you know me?! PLEASE!” John finally bellowed.

Sherlock suddenly lifted his chin and looked at John. Breathing heavily. His eyes fiercely pinning him to the door with their sudden power. John swallowed hard. He had pushed Sherlock too far. John didn’t know what Sherlock was going to do but he was suddenly very afraid. That look was determined.

Without warning, Sherlock launched himself forward and grabbed John by the shoulders forcing him harder against the door, the solid wood knocking the air out of him. Sherlock's jagged breathing filled the space between them, the tension palpable. John thought Sherlock might just punch him for real. The current flying between them was electric, and it gave John a sick thrill for a brief moment, but then he closed his eyes, and braced for the fist to collide with his face.

Instead, Sherlock grabbed his jaw firmly with both hands … and kissed him. Hard.

John’s eyes flew open, eyebrows lifted high in shock and he sucked in a breath of air through his nose loudly from the unexpected assault. The sudden rush of joy that ran through his body was immense. Mary had never kissed him like that. He never felt even an ounce of that with her.

Just as he was about to sink into the kiss too, Sherlock released John’s face. He stepped back with a look of sheer horror on his face his hands covering his mouth, eyes wide. His face was still stained with the tears from the argument and a blush rose on his cheeks, which made the tear tracks stand out white and pronounced against the colour in his cheeks. John suddenly had the urge to wipe them with his own hand, the skin on his hands tingling with the itch to do it. Sherlock was frozen in place unable to move.

“Sherlock …?” John questioned, now very confused about the feelings flying around inside him and the look on Sherlock’s face. John stepped toward Sherlock to help, but Sherlock shook his head wildly.

" _No no no no no …_ " he started saying to himself, covering his face with his hands.

But before John could say anything else, Sherlock grabbed him again and pushed him to the side away from the door. John fell to the floor, thrown off balance by a second unexpected assault. Sherlock threw the door open wide and escaped, leaving John completely confused in a heap. With the door ajar, the cool air from the corridor rushed in and stung the skin on John’s face as he sat there in shock.

“Sherlock …?” John called to the empty corridor, confused and alone.

The turmoil in him felt like the aftermath of a tornado hitting a small village. All wounds laid bare.


	28. John Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this AU - Mary and Sarah look similar. (clearly not the same as the TV show!)

John ran out into the grounds thinking he would have a long night ahead searching the campus to find Sherlock, but there he was just a small distance away sitting on a sandstone garden bed, just across the courtyard. His legs spread slightly with his head resting in his hands. As he bridged the distance, John could see one of Sherlock’s legs pulsating with a nervous twitch and his fingers pressed firmly against his eyes as if he wanted to gouge the memory out, his knuckles white from the effort. His head shaking slightly from side to side. He was mumbling something unintelligible to himself and he was clearly not okay.

As John got closer still, he slowed his pace so as not to startle him. He could see that Sherlock had a cigarette between two fingers, balanced skilfully. Once he was close enough that his approach could be heard, Sherlock blew out a big puff of smoke, turned his head to look at John before sinking his head back in his hands. John could see he was crying in earnest, his shoulders shaking from it, but no sound was coming out. _The eye gouging was probably an unsuccessful attempt at trying to stop it_ , John thought to himself.

John could not marry the image of arrogant Sherlock with this unhinged man in front of him. _And then there was that kiss …_

“Sherlock, what … what just happened?” John asked nervously, not wanting to scare him away.

“Don’t worry, John. I’m leaving,” Sherlock said resignedly, lifting his head briefly to acknowledge John and sniffing to clear his nose on a shaky inhale, sucking on the cigarette as well, “I have to _now_. Obviously.” He exhaled the smoke, before dropping his head back in his hands.

“You think I am going to let you leave after that?!” John asked. “What was that?” he continued, sitting down tentatively beside Sherlock on the sandstone edge.

He didn’t reply. The air around them was so still, the only noises were Sherlock’s jagged breathing and the sound of a distant dorm playing some loud music, but mostly this part of the campus was deserted. John was relieved. This little corner Sherlock had found was isolated and dark with only one light in the garden bed further down to light them.

John couldn’t believe how vastly different this man in front of him was, from the one that had spent the week keeping him on edge. The contrast was so striking he was a little terrified if he was honest with himself.

“Sherlock. What’s going on?” he pushed a bit more, hoping it wouldn’t be too much, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. He could already hear Sherlock’s breathing increase again and in the cool air, it made clouds of smoke between his body and his arms, where his head was still resting.

“John, I can’t keep doing this. This back and forth. I’m exhausted. I need to leave.” Sherlock sounded desperate, taking a long inhale on his cigarette again.

“I don’t know what you’re even _talking_ about yet, Sherlock,” John sighed in frustration.

Sherlock stood suddenly and started to pace back and forth in the small space in front of John, taking fast puffs on the cigarette in quick succession. John had to resist the urge to reach out and steady him.

“It’s been five years, John. _Five years_! Do you have _ANY_ idea how hard this is? _To see you like this_?” He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Well I don’t mean to be rude, but I _do_ know it’s hard. I’m _living_ it. Remember?” John said defensively. This had all come as quite a shock to him. He watched Sherlock with a heavily furrowed brow and hoped he would explain.

Sherlock answered the retort with an eye roll, and John was relieved to at least get some sort of reaction. He let out another loud exhale of smoke in his frustration. “John. Be serious.” He took another drag before adding, “when the accident happened, I thought you were going to die. Like properly _die_. Do you understand? There was so much blood…”

Suddenly John realised this was it – he was going to hear about it, and the colour drained out of his face. He felt a tingling in his extremities like he might actually pass out from hearing the information. But he focussed hard on Sherlock and shifted himself on his spot to get comfortable. Sherlock was visibly not coping either and he clearly needed John to just listen right now. And John was ready.

“… so much blood … and time stood still … and I was there with you … your head was in my hands …” Sherlock looked down at his hands as if he could see the blood on them, and John could see they were shaking now. The cigarette, balanced vicariously, created smoke patterns in the air from the movement.

“… and the next minute, the ambulance was grabbing you away from me, and … and … that’s the last time I saw you. For five … for five … no word, no contact …” he shook his head trying to piece his thoughts together, and John didn’t know whether to speak or just let him process his thoughts aloud.

“… and then all of a sudden there you were. Just out of the blue. Just standing in front of me in Lestrade’s bloody office and I wasn’t allowed to … so I tried. But I could see you were struggling, and it was so hard to … and just being around you again was _so nice_ that I let myself for just a moment, just a small moment, enjoy it but I know I can’t … I can’t … I … I …” Sherlock started to look around frantically and John was not sure what he needed to do to help.

“… I … I can’t breathe …” he managed to choke out the last word and John realised he was not just panicking; he was hyperventilating, and he couldn’t catch his breath. Sherlock was having a panic attack.

Without thinking John immediately leapt up to help him.

“Okay. Okay, Sherlock. It’s alright,” John said soothingly as he grabbed him by the arms to guide him back to the stones. His eyes were wild. His focus clearly on something in his mind, not focussing on John at all. He couldn’t catch his next breath.

“Let me take this. That won’t be helping,” John scolded, removing the cigarette from between his fingers and stubbing it out on the pavers. Sherlock was still struggling to take a proper breath, and John was genuinely worried he might need to call an ambulance.

“Sherlock just stop this. _Stop it_. Look at me,” he said with authority.

Sherlock’s breathing was too fast and shallow, and his eyes were starting to look glassy. He was shaking his head wildly and not listening. John needed him to slow down. _Now_.

John bent to his level, eye to eye. “Sherlock Holmes, listen to me. Listen to my voice. You’re having a panic attack.” He placed his hands strongly on either side of Sherlock’s face so he would focus, and John noticed that the contact startled him for a moment. _Good this will distract him._

“Look into my eyes and copy my breathing. Look at me. Only me,” John said firmly.

Sherlock looked him right in the eyes finally, and John had to try and ignore the feeling it gave him in the pit of his gut when Sherlock looked at him so directly like that. His eyes were red and watery from crying and it pained John to see this man who had been so arrogant for days suddenly appear so weak, clearly at his breaking point. He had obviously been hiding it all far too well until now.

John exaggerated his breathing to get Sherlock to mimic it, and Sherlock understood finally and tried to copy. The two of them locked in a death grip – Sherlock held onto John’s elbows for support and stared firmly into his eyes while John held his face firmly and guided him to breathe. The two of them breathed in and out loudly, gradually becoming more in sync. Sherlock teared up again as he tried to bring himself back from the edge with all the emotions welling up in him. Sherlock was so clearly struggling. It broke John to see it. His one impression of Sherlock this week, aside from being an obvious git, had been of intimidating strength and conviction, and such confidence. This Sherlock in front of him now was broken, lost, and confused.

_Did I cause this? No wonder he was so desperate to leave._

Slowly Sherlock came back to himself and their joined breathing quieted. They were almost nose to nose now, breathing together, tears rolled silently down Sherlock’s cheeks. John couldn’t help but smile that he was breathing, and he rubbed Sherlock’s cheeks with his thumbs, instinctively, affectionately.

“Sherlock …” John started to say to him, but Sherlock just closed his eyes, and sat in silence for a moment, not letting go or moving.

“How did you know what to do?” he asked so quietly in a husky voice. John wasn’t sure he had even spoken it aloud.

“What do you mean?” John asked, confused once again.

“How did you remember … how to do that?” Sherlock asked again, his eyes opened to look at John finally.

“I don’t know, I just … did it. Have I …?”

Sherlock looked all over John’s face hoping for something, some recognition but even sharing the oxygen between them and with the intensity there, he couldn’t see any recognition or whatever it was he needed to see in that moment.

He let go of John’s arms in what seemed like disappointment and John admitted to himself he already missed the contact. With the awkward realisation of how close they had been, John stood up straight to give him some space. Sherlock leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees, head dropped forward taking in air in more regulated breaths, his curls flopped onto his forehead in front of his eyes.

“You’ve done that before,” he said, “for me. You’ve always been good at that.” He gave a weak smile and glanced up at John before returning his head to look at the ground. “You will be a good doctor. Always good under pressure.”

John knelt down in front of Sherlock to be able to make eye contact and instinctively brushed the curls back from his face without thinking.

“I always loved these curls …” he smiled gently letting out a gentle sigh. “… like that time in the rain …” he said quietly, lost in his own thought.

Sherlock took in a sharp breath. They both stopped.

Their eyes met.

“How did you …” Sherlock began, head to one side in doubted question.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” John offered excitedly in a rush, shaking his head confused.

“Are you …”

“Remembering?” John finished. “I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking I just … it just came out. Was it …” John looked at him hopefully.

“A memory? In the rain? Yes. We were in the rain,” he said fondly, and John let out a huff of air he didn’t know he was holding on to. “The first night we kissed. We got caught in the rain. You brushed the curls from my forehead and we …”

Almost instinctively without waiting for an okay, John leaned in. “I remember,” he said gently, and their lips touched. Ever so lightly.

“I remember that. I thought that was with Mary … but it was _you_?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and another tear fell down his face.

“Sherlock …” John said gently.

He wouldn’t open his eyes.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John said more forcefully.

He opened his eyes slowly and finally met John’s eyes again.

“How did this…What _is_ this? Why don’t I remember us?” John asked, genuinely scared.

“You really don’t remember anything do you? From before?” he said to John, a sadness in his voice. “Even this hasn’t jogged your memory all the way, it’s just a moment.” Sherlock ran his hand along John’s arm. “What they did to you …” he stopped himself.

Another tear dropped from Sherlock’s eye and John leaned in again to take hold of Sherlock’s jaw and kiss the tear gently from his cheek. Not afraid at all to touch this man now. Sherlock breathed in sharply.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John asked.

“Surely you understand now why I can’t stay, John? Why I didn't want to tell you? I can’t stay and watch you suffer from this,” he said sadly, standing back up.

“I don’t understand. You still want to leave? Even now?” John asked incredulously.

“You and I John. We weren’t just friends,” he said finally.

“I’m gathering that,” John chuckled at how late that information had come. “How long?” John asked firmly.

Sherlock looked away, avoiding the question.

“How long were we ‘not just friends’?” John pushed.

“Long enough.” He didn’t elaborate.

“What about Mary?” John asked suddenly.

“ _Mary_?” Sherlock sounded angry and looked at John strangely, “Mary didn’t _know_ you then.” John’s heart started pounding at this revelation.

“But …” Sherlock saw the confusion on John’s face and realised he honestly had no idea. About any of it.

“ _She wasn’t there_ John. You were with another woman – Sarah. Sarah and Mary look a lot alike. I suspect your parents found Mary while you were getting treatment, in the hope she would seem familiar to you if there were any dormant memories to find.” The statement floated there between them so matter of fact. And John started to feel sick.

“What are you _saying_? That Mary isn’t really my girlfriend?” John said, getting to his feet to try and assert a little bit of aggression.

“Well we just _kissed_. Twice. I mean, you tell me,” Sherlock said with some sass that John didn’t appreciate.

“That’s not funny. Don’t be coy. Seriously, Sherlock. Who is she then?” John asked, genuinely feeling sick to his stomach and a little terrified about the answer. “How have I been …”

“You and _Sarah_ had been dating. Not very successfully, but you tried. _We_ … were friends. Best friends. For years. You had been trying to figure out why it wasn’t working with Sarah. But spending too much time with me. And one night after studying in the library we got caught in the rain. We found a spot to take shelter and, you brushed my curls away and we just … it just sort of happened,” Sherlock said carefully. “You broke Sarah’s heart. We had a few glorious months together. Your parents found out. They were horrified and they persuaded you to take Sarah back and stop the nonsense with me.”

“I have no memory of any of this, Sherlock. How do I not know this?” John was sceptical. Surely his parents wouldn’t …

“Why would I lie? You said yourself you knew me when you saw me,” he said pleading, hoping John would listen.

“But I _don’t know you_. I have no reason to believe any of this!” John sat back down, the weight of all of this was too much for him. He saw that it hurt Sherlock as it left his mouth.

“What we had was something special, John. I have never … with anyone. I don’t do relationships, but we had something. We were genuinely in love. Your parents didn’t like that. They were not supportive of you being with a man, and someone like me _especially_.”

“My parents? I can’t imagine them ever hurting anyone,” John said incredulously.

“John, they are _paying_ Mary. I’m sure of it. She is there to prop you up and make you feel like you had something before the accident. But she isn’t real. She threatened me. When she heard that you and I were working together, she came to me and threatened me!” he blurted out.

“Sherlock, you sound crazy! You know that, right? It sounds unbelievable.” John stood and started pacing now, needing to move around to process it. Sherlock watched from his seat with desperate eyes. “If you’re doing this as some trick, as some part of your experiment…” John warned, giving Sherlock a stern look.

Sherlock stood and grabbed John by the arms to stop him pacing. “John, think back to the café. Think back to my dorm room, our kiss. You know it in your heart. They can’t have broken you that much. They _can’t_ have,” he shook John gently in frustration, hoping to shake the sense into him.

“Okay, if this is real. What happened then? Tell me about the accident. I need to know,” John demanded firmly.

Sherlock sat back down and began wrestling with his hands and clearly couldn’t decide what to do. Now it was John’s turn to help. He sat back down beside Sherlock, reached out and grabbed his hands to still them, and looked into his eyes confidently. He gave Sherlock’s hands a squeeze of reassurance for him to go on. Sherlock let out a big breath before beginning, resigned to the fact that he would have to relay the story.

“You went back to Sarah. You loved me. And I knew that, but you went back to her because you were unsure, and it’s what your parents wanted. You had never been interested in men, so you doubted us, doubted how everyone would take it, and in the end your parents won. And that broke me.” He stopped for a moment and looked at John to judge how he was coping. John nodded for him to continue and he swallowed.

“I have a drug problem. I use it to…quiet my mind sometimes. Mostly controlled. Sometimes not. You knew about it, but not the full extent of the worst of it.” He let that information sit for a minute. John could tell he was scared to lay all of this out to him.

“When you went back to her, I took it badly. Very badly. Knowing you went back to her even though … well I hit rock bottom. I took too much. Took it too far. And then I phoned you. I had been at a party and had met my dealer there and I wanted it all to just stop. The hurt. You were terrified when I called you and you wanted to come to me. But I hung up the phone and you couldn’t find me. You called my brother to locate me. You came to the party and sat with me while we talked. You kept an eye on me. You admitted you didn’t love Sarah as much as me and we ended up kissing. Sarah was there too, and she heard it all and saw it all. That didn’t go well,” Sherlock hesitated to go on.

“It’s okay, Sherlock. Go on,” John encouraged, although his voice barely made any sound. He could see it all in his head but wasn’t sure if it was memory or just a visualisation.

“She ran out of the party, you chased her. The three of us ended up arguing outside in the street. I was still in a bad way. Sarah wanted to drive off, but she was hysterical and had been drinking. You tried to be the good guy and wanted to get in the car with her. You didn’t want her driving in her state. I didn’t want you to leave me and we argued, wrestling with the car door. She wouldn’t let you behind the wheel, but you managed to get in the car with her in the hope of keeping her calm and getting her home safe. I tried to convince you to get out of the car. I was not rational. The drugs … I was heartbroken that you chose to help her. That you were leaving me there. That you got in that bloody car with her. So … as she tried to drive off I …”

“You ran in front of the car …” John said in shock. A distant memory just on the edge of his mind came into focus.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, eyes closed. Relieved that something had come back to John.

“This was my dream the other day,” John said, “it was fragmented but that was it.”

“I know. I figured as much,” he said, and they sat there in silence for a minute before John finally looked to him to continue.

“She turned the wheel hard to avoid me, but accidentally hit the accelerator. It all happened so fast. The car swerved, hit the curb and flew before it hit a tree at full speed. You hadn’t put on your seatbelt yet in all the commotion and you were thrown from the car. Sarah was killed on impact.” He swallowed hard.

John shook his head trying to remember the details, “I remembered the sound of glass breaking, the smell of rubber, a scream, but it was all in pieces.”

Sherlock nodded, “I ran to your body further down the road. Someone from the party had called an ambulance quickly, thankfully. Because I was no use. Crowds had gathered on the street from the party to see the accident aftermath. You weren’t conscious. There was so much blood. So … much … the ambulance took you away so quickly, without me. I …”

John stared at the ground trying to picture the scene, his stomach rolling. He felt like he might be sick.

“Obviously being as high as I was, they blamed me. The police took me into custody immediately. Your parents didn’t want it to be reported that we were lovers. There had already been rumours. They sent you away before I could come to see you, and I couldn’t find you. I tried. My family got involved and obviously got me off any serious charges, but I was sent to rehab. They kept me there for six months. I was court ordered to have no contact with you. Ever again. Everyone blamed me. I blamed myself. By the time my brother found where you were, it was too late.” Sherlock had to stop. He took a moment to just look at John, to take in his face, and how he was coping.

“It seems your parents sent you to some sort of facility for a kind of … conversion therapy, John. To erase me. To erase _men_. To make sure you wouldn’t embarrass them. Or be tempted again. And Mary was inserted in your life to complete the picture, as your ever-faithful girlfriend who stuck by you. By the time Mycroft found you, it was too late. There may have been some brain damage and amnesia, but the therapy messed everything up to a point that we don’t even know if it was the accident or the therapy that’s done this to you. It’s why I’ve been researching it.”

“That’s ridiculous! That’s quite an accusation, Sherlock.” John suddenly couldn’t believe it. Not his parents.

“Do you remember anything about the therapy?” he pushed.

“Well, no … I … I did stay in a facility, but that was to help with the amnesia,” John said calmly.

“Are you sure? Are you sure you even _have_ amnesia? Or have they just wiped you so clean, anything good is now missing from in there? The accident was a perfect cover! I’m just completely gone from in there. We were best friends for years – and more than that. _Much more_. How can you not remember? I mean it’s insane! It’s like you’re not even _you_ in that body!”

“I don’t know what to say.” John couldn’t even fathom how this could be true.

“I can’t do it, John. I mean it. It’s breaking me all over again to see you like this.” Sherlock’s voice started to rise in panic.

“This is why your brother wants me to stay away?” John asked.

“Yes. That was Mycroft you met, the other day.” Sherlock looked at John before pleading. “John. I … I loved you. We loved each other. So much. Try to remember. I can’t stay if you don’t remember.” There was such a sadness in his voice and a part of John really wanted to believe it was true but couldn’t take it in. The rolling feeling in his stomach started to return and John’s head started to swim.

“I just … this is a lot to process.” John stood quietly. Suddenly very lost. Not knowing what to believe. “Sorry I just …” and with that, he turned to the garden bed and emptied the contents of his stomach.

Sherlock stood and put his hands on John’s back in comfort, waiting for John to finish. “It’s alright, John.”

“It’s a lot to process, Sherlock. _A lot_ ,” he said as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and sat back down with hands braced on his knees trying to take in the fresh air.

“I know. I’m sorry. This is why we didn’t want you to know,” he tried to justify his actions, “we thought it might be best for you to just … continue on. You seemed … happy. Your brain is now trying too hard to find those memories and put them back in their place. It’s not surprising you’re overwhelmed.”

“Is that really what you thought was best for me?” John said. Sherlock couldn't answer. Now John needed proof.

"Tell me something. That only you could know,” John challenged him.

Sherlock expected this but sat with it for a long time to make sure he got it just right.

“You hate peas. With a passion,” he said, and John looked at him in disbelief. _This is the first thing he can come up with?_ But John was intrigued so he didn’t interrupt.

“Your parents always give them to you because they think you like them. But I know you hate them. We never ate peas.” Sherlock let out a little laugh and sniffs. John can’t help but smile. Something so small and trivial … and true.

“You like Ravel. Not a fan of Mozart. I played you Ravel on the violin. When you were studying. I’ll play you some. Maybe that will help.”

John began to enjoy this now and gave him an encouraging nod. He didn’t listen to a lot of classical music so he couldn’t verify that fact, but he suddenly wanted to invest in knowing himself through this man’s memories – he wanted more.

“Your favourite jumper is that ridiculous grey jumper your grandmother knitted you which is falling apart and has holes in it. You would wear it all the time. It was the ugliest thing, but I loved you in it, because I knew how much it meant to you.” He started crying gently again, reliving these memories anew, after so many years keeping them locked away.

John’s brow creased as he tried to remember the jumper. He didn’t recall having that in his wardrobe. It was probably at his parents’ house.

“But _my_ favourite of your jumpers is the blue one you were wearing the other day. I gave that to you.”

“You did?” John was shocked.

“It has our initials embroidered on the cuff of the left sleeve. John had wondered about that and had assumed it was a second-hand purchase with someone else’s initials on it. He always traced it absently with his fingers and wondered what the J & S stood for.

“None of this makes any sense,” John said incredulous, shaking his head.

“I can’t stay here if you don’t remember. If I’m even allowed to stay at all. Now Mary knows, and my brother knows, they will force me to go,” he said desperately.

“Mary knows.” John suddenly registered the fact, and Sherlock blushed at the realisation that he had brought her back into it.

“Yes, she came to me when she realised, and threatened me. She’s probably the one who let Mycroft know you were here,” he said guiltily. Before John could respond he interrupted, “oh! You had a journal. On your computer. You wrote about us on there. I used to lie on the floor under the table with my head on a cushion while you read it out to me. We never made it public, but you always threatened to make it a public blog. You actually write very well. You always made me sound better than I really am.”

John gaped at him. He _did_ have a journal. This was true, although the entries only seemed to start from when he came out of therapy. He always assumed it was part of the therapy and not something he had always done. His chest started to pound as his pulse picked up in excitement. There may actually be entries to tell of the time before, with Sherlock.

“Right, Sherlock. You aren’t going anywhere yet. Not if I have anything to say about it.” John reached up and touched Sherlock’s cheek, rubbing with his thumb where there were still tears on his delicate skin. It didn’t even feel weird to be doing it. He’d never remembered touching any man like this. And it didn’t feel the slightest bit strange. In fact, it felt wonderful. So many emotions were whirling around in John’s head – he was so uncertain about what was happening but something in his gut told him to trust this.

“Promise me you won’t leave,” he said more gently.

Sherlock nodded slowly and uncertainly, not taking his eyes from John.

“I may need a couple of days to sort my head out, though,” John said looking worried.

“What’s a couple more days in the scheme of this madness?” Sherlock joked.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room and we can unpack that suitcase,” John said, holding out his hand for Sherlock, who looked at it tentatively before taking it.

_[They were almost nose to nose now, breathing together, tears rolled silently down Sherlock's cheeks.](https://drive.google.com/file/d/10DPIfK1BnMCvB3ZsWncjItqYooUhxrCF/view?usp=sharing) (Artwork by Anke Eissmann @Khorazir)_


	29. Reunited

Coming back into the dorm again with Sherlock, brought with it memories of their earlier argument and John looked awkwardly around the room, finally taking in the chaos – clothes everywhere, the tiny kitchen space looked ransacked.

“Wow you really did make a mess, didn’t you?” John could not believe he had not noticed in his earlier rage.

“There may have been some … throwing of things,” Sherlock said cheekily.

John laughed shaking his head. He didn’t know what to say next or how to approach this man now. In less than a day, everything had changed between them. Nervous for how to proceed, he opted for practicality and diversion until he could think of something better. He began grabbing things off the ground near the kitchenette, and putting them back, without a word.

Sherlock, who had been watching him carefully, nervously, took his lead. Walking to the bed, he took clothes out of the suitcase and returned them to the cupboard. Sherlock smiled to himself as he heard John make little noises of disgust and annoyance at the mess. It reminded him of countless times together in their past. It gave him comfort to hear the familiarity of something so small and insignificant which he had missed so much.

John opened multiple cabinets until he found the small dustpan to clean up a smashed coffee mug and plate from the floor. He looked over briefly at Sherlock, head to one side in questioned annoyance, and Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders and smiled before returning to his clothes. _Yes, this was more like it_ , Sherlock thought.

Once they had straightened up the room, John brought over an opened bottle of wine he had found and two coffee mugs, the best Sherlock had and sat with him on the bed.

“Tell me some more stories … about before,” he said.

Sherlock sighed, trying to decide where to start. So he went right back to the beginning. He figured it would be much safer to start further back to when things were a bit simpler, a bit less complicated. And they were just friends.

After more wine and lots of stories, there was a brief lull, and they both stared awkwardly into their mugs, not wanting to make eye contact. It was getting pretty late.

“Well that was quite an eventful evening,” John said, to break the silence, smiling shyly.

Sherlock returned the smile and looked back down at his mug and his lap, not knowing what to do next.

“If anyone had told me this morning that I’d be drinking wine in Sherlock Holmes’ dorm room I would _not_ have believed them,” John joked. “You really do give off a scary persona you know?”

The two of them chuckled at that and when their eyes met, suddenly John’s face fell. It wasn’t so funny anymore. Looking into Sherlock’s eyes which still showed the remnants of the earlier crying, he found he couldn’t just ignore what had happened. His lips felt parched. Suddenly with the memory of their earlier kiss, he unconsciously licked his lips to moisten them. Sherlock couldn’t help but look straight there.

“John. Uh …” Sherlock said hesitantly.

“Sherlock I’m _sorry_ ,” John said at the same time, their words tangled over each other. They both stopped for a moment with apologetic smiles.

“No, _I’m sorry_ , John. I’ve been awful this week. So _inexcusably_ awful.” Sherlock shook his head as the memory of all of his behaviour crossed his mind.

“Sherlock it’s okay. I understand why now. Mind you it did make me question my charms. Usually people _like_ me! It was kind of irritating how hard I had to work,” he smiled, “but _no_. _I’m_ sorry. I’m sorry that I don’t remember. So much. _Truly_ ,” he added sadly.

“Not your fault.” Sherlock swallowed some wine and shook his head again, trying not to let his eyes tear up.

“Still. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. How hard it must have been … for _you_.” John looked Sherlock in the eyes, all seriousness and worry.

“Let’s not worry about that. You _know_ now. At least some of it. The air has been cleared. We can be friends again,” Sherlock said calmly with a smile.

“Friends.” John sounded a little disappointed.

“Yes, don’t you want that?” Sherlock was confused.

“Sure, yes. Absolutely,” John nodded, and he suddenly realised they were not on the same page. He stood awkwardly and put his cup on the bedside table. “Friends.” He gave Sherlock a reassuring smile and a final nod. “It’s getting late. I should go,” he said looking at his watch to punctuate the thought.

“Oh,” Sherlock said more confused, also putting his wine down. “If you’re sure. I didn’t mean to make you leave.” He stood to walk John out.

“It’s fine. I have an early class with Lestrade, anyway. I should get some sleep in before then. I wouldn’t want to go falling asleep in any more lectures. I’d end up with quite the reputation,” he joked lightly, ignoring the disappointment in his chest.

“Well true,” Sherlock laughed with John awkwardly and followed him to the door.

There felt like a giant chasm between them all of a sudden and neither of them knew what to say next. The space between them almost mocked them both now.

“Well …” John said, opening and closing his fists in an awkward attempt to stall.

“John?” Sherlock began, not knowing how he would finish that thought but wanting to delay him leaving.

“Yes?” John asked a little too eagerly, hopeful.

“I …” he paused not sure how to go on before changing thoughts. “Thank you. For helping with the unpacking and tidying,” he said uncomfortably, gesturing to the room.

“Oh sure. No problem – at least I know you won’t run out in the middle of the night,” John smiled.

“No, quite” he smiled. “Too much effort to pack _again_ ,” he joked, and John nodded, opening the door.

When his back was turned, Sherlock suddenly panicked.

“Wait!” he blurted out.

“Yes …?” John said, closing his eyes in relief, but keeping his back to Sherlock so as not to show it.

“Don’t go,” he said it so quietly John almost thought he had imagined it in his own head. Sherlock’s hand gently reached out and touched John’s hand. John grabbed on and squeezed his fingers but couldn’t move.

Sherlock closed his eyes with relief too and moved closer in behind him until his chest was against John’s back. The fabric of their jackets annoyingly blocked the closeness they both were secretly craving. John was sure Sherlock would be able to feel his heart beating through his rib cage.

Sherlock gently bent his head to kiss the top of John’s head and John let out a sigh of air he didn’t even realise he was holding. He let go of Sherlock’s fingers only long enough so that he could turn around and wrap his arms around Sherlock’s waist and bury his head in Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock put his arms around John in answer and was sure he might never be able to let him go again. Sherlock stuck out his foot to grab the edge of the door and kicked it closed so they were safely inside alone together. Ensuring John got the message that he was not to go any time soon.

“I _remember_ this,” John sighed quietly. “I can’t explain it. I just feel … safe and right.”

Sherlock smiled against John’s hair as tears began to well up again.

“Oh John. I’ve missed you. So much. I can’t even tell you how much,” he rasped.

“I’m not going anywhere you hear?” John said fiercely.

Sherlock just nodded against him so John could feel the agreement. But he wasn’t able to speak any more.


	30. Interrupted

The two of them spent the night curled up together on Sherlock’s bed. Fully clothed, just being together. The exhaustion of the day and the subsequent relief had taken its toll and they both just wanted to sleep. But neither of them could bear letting the other go. So they had slept. Sherlock, curled up against John’s chest – both still fully dressed in coats, shoes and all – on top of the blankets.

John smiled to himself as he became more aware, waking slowly. He hadn’t felt this peaceful in a very long time. The smell of Sherlock surprised him at first and then when he remembered what had happened, he opened his eyes, enjoying the warm sensation of Sherlock curled against him. He knew this had to be right. _How could this be anything but right?_ He could feel their breathing was in sync. John hadn’t slept this well in … well he couldn’t remember how long. Looking down, he smiled fondly at the mop of dark curls and Sherlock’s arm draped so comfortably over his stomach, a little possessively.

John’s phone buzzed loudly in his jeans pocket, vibrating against his butt cheek, startling him.

“Hmmm who is that irritating human that keeps trying to ring you? It’s been going off all night,” Sherlock moaned lazily.

“Morning,” John said sleepily, “how long have you been awake?”

“Didn’t sleep,” he mumbled into John’s chest.

“What?” John asked sitting up slightly and craning his neck to try and get a better look at him, annoyed that he couldn’t see Sherlock’s face now.

“It’s okay, I was very comfortable. I was worried if I closed my eyes you might be gone when I woke,” he confessed.

John’s heart ached at the thought.

Sherlock’s phone broke the spell further, as it took its turn ringing loudly from his jacket pocket.

“Ugh…are you going to answer it?” John asked, as he dropped back to the pillow and squinted at the harshness of the loud ring tone.

“Not a chance. I’m not moving. You?” he asked dramatically.

“Same,” he grinned. “That was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time,” John said trying to stifle a yawn as he spoke.

“Well that’s the strangest complement I’ve ever had but thanks, I guess,” Sherlock sassed.

They both chuckled at that and Sherlock looked up to finally make eye contact with John. He was nervous. Would John still feel the same way this morning in the light of day? To be cuddled up together like this? But he appeared to be okay. They stared at each other for a long moment until John leaned in and kissed Sherlock square on the lips. No awkwardness, no pretence.

It caught Sherlock by surprise, but a pleasant surprise. He brought his hand up from John’s stomach, to hold John behind his head as he leaned into the kiss more fully and pulled John closer to him. It was a strange mix of feeling comfortable and familiar. It was also a little painful after so long, getting to do this again – something he thought they would never be doing again. John seemed to be enjoying it just as much. He moved one of his legs to cover Sherlock’s calves possessively. With a small groan of approval, he adjusted himself slightly to allow for a better angle. They both sank deeper into the kiss – the first proper long kiss they had managed. John grabbed Sherlock's side firmly in a show of confidence and Sherlock felt elated to have him back. At least like this, for now.

A sudden throat clearing from across the room startled them both and they looked up in shock to see Mycroft, standing in the middle of the apartment.

“Well I see neither of you heeded my warnings,” he sneered.

“Mycroft, seriously?! Sherlock pushed away from John to leap up from the bed, ruffling his curls into some semblance of control, stumbling a little as his legs tried to catch up with his brain. “What are you doing here? You should have …”

“Called?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “I did. You should answer your phone, _brother_.”

Sherlock blushed in realisation. John sat up awkwardly and moved to the edge of the bed, ready to run if needed.

“It seems when Mary didn’t hear back from John last night, she called his parents and told them everything. They are in the Dean’s office right now. I expect campus security will be here any minute to find you.”

“Shit.” John grabbed his phone out of his back jeans pocket to discover that Sherlock was right, his phone had in fact been going off all night. Several missed calls from Mary and a couple from his mother. Another from Lestrade … _what time was it_?

“Shit. What do we do?” he asked frantically.

“There’s nothing to be done," Mycroft said with finality. "Sherlock will be leaving with me this morning and you and your parents will decide on the next course of action for you with the Dean of the university.”

“No. That will not be happening!” John leapt up off the bed walking towards Mycroft with a menacing look on his face.

_It would almost have been intimidating if his morning bed hair wasn’t so adorable and dishevelled_ , Sherlock thought to himself.

“John be serious. What do you think will happen here?” Mycroft said with an air of victory that riled John.

“No, Mycroft, you listen to me …” he said, fists clenched, ready for battle.

“John,” Sherlock said firmly, stopping John in his tracks.

John turned to look at Sherlock, who clearly was resigned to their fates and had a pained look on his face, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with John.

“No. No, no, no! Not after everything last night. You are not giving up on me. On us. Sherlock, look at me!” John demanded walking up to him and grabbing him by the arms of his jacket.

“John it’s hopeless. We can’t win.” The Sherlock from minutes ago was gone. It was like a switch had been flicked.

“Of _course_ we can. You have me and I have _you_. We will win this … together. You and me against the world,” John said pleading.

“An overly-optimistic and very stupid viewpoint John. This is not a game,” Mycroft spoke with condescension.

“Oh, believe me, I _know_ that. I know that very well. It seems everyone has been deciding what happens with me and with Sherlock for far too long. And I’m done,” John stated flatly. “If I’m walking to that Dean’s office to see my parents, Sherlock is coming with me,” he demanded.

Sherlock looked shocked and a little scared. Eyes darting between the two men in this standoff.

“You can’t be serious,” Mycroft stated.

“Perfectly. I’ve got nothing to lose at this point. Are you coming?” he asked Sherlock.

“Sherlock, I would strongly advise against this,” Mycroft directed at his brother.

“You heard him, John. Mycroft thinks it’s a bad idea,” he said slightly defeated. John’s heart sank.

“So that means I’m definitely coming,” he finished with a smile at John and a little wink. John’s face lifted.

“Great, let’s go then!” John held out his hand and Sherlock took it. They ran out, passing two security men coming up the stairs, almost knocking them over.

They giggled to each other as they kept going, not waiting to see if they had been recognised. John had not felt so alive in the longest time and he squeezed Sherlock’s hand in solidarity. As they exited the building, the wind lapped at their messy hair, the cool air helping to wake them both further. And they ran through the campus hand in hand towards their fate.

Mycroft, left standing in the dorm, smiled to himself with pride.

“Finally,” he muttered to himself with an eye roll.


	31. The Dean

The two of them were puffing as they entered the Dean’s office, after the long run. They couldn’t help some half laughter at the ridiculousness of it, and Sherlock flopped into one of the waiting room chairs for a moment to catch his breath.

“John Watson to see the Dean,” John announced, finally addressing the confused secretary.

“Ah yes John, you can go straight in. They are waiting for you,” she smiled. John could tell she was disturbed by their unruly behaviour and the smile was just something she had to give to everyone.

Sherlock stood again and suddenly nervous, his face dropped. They stood there slowing their breathing and finally, John cleared his throat and held out his hand to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded, and took his hand, nervously and they walked in.

“Mother. Father,” John announced with mock enthusiasm, interrupting their hushed conversation with the Dean.

“Oh John, thank _goodness_ , we were ever so worried,” Mrs Watson sighed. His parents stood to greet him but instantly their faces dropped when they saw the two men holding hands in the doorway.

“Mr Watson. I suggest you take a seat,” The Dean said quickly to John. “Mr Holmes, you are not required at this meeting,” he added sternly.

Sherlock dropped John's hand ready to leave, but John grabbed it again, not allowing it. “He stays,” he said firmly.

“John!” his mother said in shock. “Don’t speak to the Dean like this,” she added, giving an apologetic huff of embarrassment.

“He _stays_ ,” he repeated more firmly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. We haven’t paid for your education to be thrown away on this … nonsense,” John’s father asserted.

“Poor Mary is _beside_ herself,” John’s mother added.

“Poor Mary? _Poor Mary_?? Are you serious right now?” he exclaimed, looking at them both, then to the Dean one more time, " _HE STAYS_.”

“Well, alright. Take a seat then,” the Dean placated nervously, pointing to the one empty chair.

The two of them came closer. Sherlock grabbed an extra chair from the side of the room to add to the collection in front of the Dean’s large mahogany wood table. The room was clearly designed for maximum intimidation. On the walls, countless degrees framed, portraits of what he imagined were past Deans, and of course the Queen, taking pride of place. On the shelves, so many old books he could bet had not been opened for years.

“Mr Watson, I believe there were some strong court orders in place before you came to our institution. We won’t have any sort of scandal in our midst. If this is going to become some sort of public news story, we _won’t_ have it,” the Dean began, with distaste.

“Well I certainly hope you aren’t trying to say your university wants to participate in discriminatory behaviour or perhaps it _will_ become a news story,” John announced firmly. The Dean was taken aback.

“Now I’m not in full possession of all the facts yet, John,” the Dean placated, trying to calm the proceedings.

“Yes, exactly Johnny, he doesn’t know all the facts. I think you should wait,” his mother tried to interject nervously.

“I’m sure you know I’ve _supposedly_ _had_ amnesia,” John stated. Then unable to go on, turned his mother, “Mother, I can’t believe… you would do this. To _me_. To your _son_ ,” he pleaded.

“That’s enough John," John’s father interrupted. "Now I don’t know what’s gotten into you – I can only imagine this boy is influencing you,” he spat. Then to the Dean, “you know he’s a drug addict, right? You know the accident was his fault? And he’s here at your university working with students. A drug addict!”

“Dad, stop,” John said firmly. He checked over to Sherlock, who had closed his eyes, brow furrowed in pain.

Sherlock knew it would be like this. He couldn't stand it. John reached over and put his hand on Sherlock's on the arm of the chair, but Sherlock moved it away into his lap.

“Right, that’s quite enough,” the Dean stepped in. “Now John, I have the court orders here and they are very clear. You are not supposed to be within a certain distance of each other. It’s court ordered. We shouldn’t have even let your admission to the university happen. I didn’t realise at the time.”

“Right, so you want me to leave?” John interjected with a nod, “I will go and pack my things. But he should be allowed to stay.”

“John!” Sherlock finally opened his eyes to disagree.

“No, it’s fine Sherlock. You shouldn't have to leave. You did nothing wrong,” John said firmly.

“Nothing, my foot – tell that to Sarah’s parents,” John’s father retorted.

John was shocked. It was the first time his parents had admitted to any part of it. The first time they’d said Sarah’s name.

“ _Sarah_?” John questioned smugly, John’s father shocked into silence, realising his mistake.

“John, we put a lot of time and money into helping you get better,” his mother tried to redirect.

“Oh yes I’ve heard some of this! You mean the treatment facility you sent me to? In the hope I would forget about Sherlock? About having a man as my _lover_?” he spat at her. “Did you know this, Dean? Does it say that in your file?” John stood up, frustrated. “They sent me to conversion therapy! Isn’t that right? Mum? Isn’t that right?” John yelled.

Mrs Watson let out a wail before covering her mouth and crying silently into her handkerchief. John’s father stood up and was marginally taller than John, giving him the advantage.

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to my _son_ speak to us this way. Dean, you can remove him from the student list. I will send a formal letter of withdrawal by email this afternoon. But my lawyers will be speaking to you about how the two of _them_ have been allowed to be in the same university. The same _department_ – the same dorm floor! It’s outrageous. Completely outrageous! Come mother, we’re leaving,” he announced to the room.

Mrs Watson stood, bowing her head at the Dean in a show of apology and respect, unable to speak. She made one last glance at her son before following her husband out of the office.

The office was silent for a long pause. Sherlock couldn’t speak. John was shocked but resigned.

“I’m sorry John,” the Dean finally said.

“So that’s it then?” John asked carefully.

“I think that it’s best if you pack your things, yes.”

“We will both be leaving,” Sherlock announced. He reached over and grabbed John’s hand in a show of support and apology.

“But Mr Holmes …” The Dean sputtered. “If John leaves, there’s no reason for you to …”

“If he leaves, I leave,” he said simply. “Besides, Dean, we wouldn’t want you to have the _scandal_ of a drug addict in your science department,” Sherlock placated, condescendingly, standing beside John.

“I’m sure my brother can find _another_ university to invest in.” He made the parting shot and pulled John with him out of the office.


	32. Blog - Surprise

_Blog entry – A Whole New John_

_I don’t even know where to begin – to record the last couple of days. So much has happened._

_I am leaving the university. Probably the shortest run of any student in the history of this place._

_Pretty certain my parents have disowned me now. I honestly don't plan on speaking to them for a while even if they haven't. That will take a lot of time._

_Mary won’t answer my calls. Probably best she doesn’t if I’m honest. I’ve avoided walking by her café just to be sure._

_I spent today packing up my belongings._

_Talking to Lestrade was the hardest thing. I’ve really enjoyed working with him. He’s kind and smart, and humble._

_But the most important news to record here, is the much more surprising information._

_I know now. I know what happened to me. And I have my best friend back. And of all the people that could possibly be, who would have ever thought it would be Sherlock Holmes. The most infuriating man I’ve ever met. But we are leaving together. We are going to work through this slowly, and together. And I couldn’t be happier. I don’t have all the answers yet. I don’t have all the pieces put together. But I’m okay with that. Because I have him there to help me._


	33. A Meeting of Friends

“Well here’s to new beginnings,” Lestrade said jovially and raised his glass to the centre of the table.

“To new beginnings,” Molly chimed in, proudly.

“Yes absolutely, new beginnings,” John smiled looking to Sherlock to join in.

Sherlock let out a big sigh, feeling contented. “New beginnings,” he joined in, and they all clinked glasses and let out a cheer, before returning their glasses back to the table.

“I have to say,” the professor began, as he took a mouthful of food, “I’m glad you aren’t at each other’s throats anymore. That was getting dangerous. I thought one of you would kill the other before long. And I think my money was on John!” He laughed and John joined in looking surprised that the Professor thought so highly of his abilities.

“Hey!” Sherlock let out, looking offended at them both.

“Aww don’t worry, you gave as good as you got too,” John placated him. “I still know you can be scary!”

“Greg, be _nice_ ,” Molly gave him a dig with her elbow, “I just can’t believe … _all this time_ …” she said wide-eyed looking at John.

“I know. It’s crazy right?” John agreed with her and gave Sherlock a wink from across the table.

“I’m just disappointed I’m losing _both_ my assistants to the competition!” Lestrade lamented.

“Means you’ll have to clean your own desk now,” John teased, “or convince Molly to do it.” And John smiled as Molly and Greg shared a knowing look between them. He was so pleased for Molly. Things had clearly been going well for them. He was happy they could all have dinner together one last time.

“Oh, come now Lestrade,” Sherlock began, “I think you know that’s nonsense. You’re hardly in competition with the best universities. We will be far above you before long!” he poked.

“Sherlock!” Molly chided.

“He’s right,” Greg replied in exaggerated defeat and they all laughed, returning to their meals, a lull in the conversation as they enjoyed their food.

The sound of rippling classical piano music in the background tinkled as a gentle soundtrack to their contented chewing. Lestrade’s house was modest, but quite nicely furnished for an underpaid Professor – artwork on the walls, some interesting books on the shelves and good taste in music. Sherlock noted the surroundings and silently approved. He didn’t know John’s friend, Molly all that well yet, but she seemed nice enough. Meek enough to let Greg feel he could take the lead, but strong enough to hold her own if she needed to. They seemed happy.

“Molly, this meal is amazing, thanks so much for cooking,” John piped up, “and Greg, for hosting. For letting us all have one last meal. Thank you both, really.”

“Well, I thought we should at least have a chance to say goodbye properly before you go off to your lofty studies,” Greg teased them with a smile. “Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be working for _you_ instead,” he said with mirth, raising his eyebrows at Sherlock and they shared a smile and clinked their glasses together once more.

“And are they really letting you use your research, Sherlock? The brain study?” Molly asked keenly.

“Yes,” he swallowed a mouthful of food and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, “it seems they think I’ve found a new strand of research they had previously not considered. Thanks to John, really,” he smiled.

“Ah, well that’s great,” Greg said proudly. “That’s really great.”

As they busied themselves asking Sherlock more about his research, John found himself drifting away from the conversation listening to the music. Sherlock watched John from the corner of his eye as he continued to answer a question, noticing. As the music got louder, it drifted into the room and John took in an audible breath. Closing his eyes, he let it wash over him, ignoring the chatter between the three of them. Something in the music had caught him off guard. The melody was hypnotic and beautiful. He knew it, from somewhere. His brow furrowed as he listened to the flourish of violin melody.

“Ravel,” he let out quietly on a sigh, almost inaudible, his eyes still closed.

Sherlock dropped his cutlery, interrupting the conversation abruptly. Molly and Greg stopped in fright unsure what had happened. Sherlock held his hand up to Greg to signal for silence.

“John?” Sherlock asked gently, tentatively.

John finally opened his eyes and looked straight at Sherlock, tears in his eyes just listening, breathing.

“Ravel?” he asked, uncertain.

Sherlock nodded gently with a slight smile.

“It’s beautiful,” John gasped.

Molly and Greg didn’t dare move a muscle as they watched the interaction, not sure what was happening.

“ _Vocalise-étude en forme de Habanera_ ,” Sherlock said fondly, tearing up himself. “That’s the song I used to play you.”

“I know,” John said simply, and they sat looking at each other across the table as the music played, unable to move.

Molly and Greg shared a look of understanding and love, watching these two piecing it together and didn’t dare interrupt. When the final bars played, John closed his eyes, savouring it. Then the track changed, breaking the spell.

Greg cleared his throat, “Dessert anyone? Molly made a pie!” as he awkwardly tried to clear the air.

John opened his eyes and smiled, checking in with Sherlock one more time. “Pie would be lovely,” he said. And just like that, everything went back to normal – John and Molly gushing about this and that, Greg and Sherlock talking university politics, and the ins and outs of research study.

By the end of the evening they were all stuffed and happy. John and Sherlock delivered hugs and promised to stay in touch to do it more often despite not being on campus anymore.

Finally, they were alone together as they strolled back to campus. Their last night before things would change considerably. John couldn’t help being nervous about the prospect of another new start and decisions to be made. His stomach so full from dinner, was churning with the nerves of the impending upheaval, not knowing what to do about Sherlock. This man _loved_ him, had loved him for _years_. And John had a lot of catching up to do. Oh, how Sherlock must be desperate to just go back to how things were when they were together before. A time that was so foreign to John it was like somebody else’s life. And even though pieces were beginning to peek through, there was a lot to still unravel. How could he expect Sherlock to just be patient and wait for that? He knew he felt something. He knew there were happy memories. But there was so much missing it scared him, terrified him even.

“Hey,” Sherlock said, bumping against John, as they walked together. “What’s going on in there?”

John couldn’t speak. He tried to smile, but instead his face crumpled, and tears began to form.

“Hey, hey.” Sherlock stepped in front of him and grabbed him by the arms. “What’s this?” he asked surprised as John started to cry in earnest.

“How am I ever going to get it all back?” he choked out, unable to hold in his emotions any longer.

“Oh, hey. John stop that. We just had a lovely dinner. _With friends_. And we’re okay. You and I we’re going to be just fine,” he tried to reassure John. But a part of him knew exactly what John meant and he was feeling it too. This sense of the unknown. They started to walk again slowly, Sherlock trying to find the words to help him.

“John, before we were _ever_ lovers, we were friends. We were able to just be around each other. We wanted to be … all the time … and you made the world better for me. And I think, I made it more interesting for you. That’s how we started,” Sherlock reassured him.

John tried to get himself back under control and show Sherlock he understood.

“I don’t expect anything from you, but for you to be yourself. Just be _John_ ,” Sherlock said strongly.

“I don’t know who that is,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

“I don’t need you to be John from _five years ago_. I love you right now. Everything you have said and done this past week … even _then_ you were being _you_ ,” Sherlock explained to him.

“You are made up of every part of you from before _and_ from now. I will follow you and love you through all of it until you find who it is you want to be, and I’ll love _that_ John too,” he said with so much strength John was overwhelmed.

“Sherlock, everything that you went through …” John tried to start.

“John that’s done now. We are not going to let the last five years apart, suffering, control us anymore,” he said firmly.

“What if you’re disappointed in me? If I can’t remember? Or if I become someone … different?” John was grappling with every possibility.

“Not going to happen,” Sherlock said with certainty. John didn’t know how he could be so confident.

“Hey. Do you think we were some sort of perfect beings before? Some kind of unattainable superhuman types? Well, let me tell you _John Watson_. You were no picnic,” he said, and John couldn’t help letting out a laugh.

“And me? Well, you’ve seen how messy I can be. I’m a right pain in the ass! The only person willing and able to put up with me was _you_. And I’m the only one that you managed to not piss off either. We’re a right pair!” he continued, “and even this week when I tried my hardest to get rid of you…you wouldn’t bloody go away! I think we’ll be okay,” Sherlock finished with a reassuring smile and wink.

John was in fits of giggles now and Sherlock joined in. They walked further allowing the laughter to subside naturally, before just walking peacefully together. Taking in the clear night sky and simply being together.

“Thank you,” John finally said

“John, you don’t need to thank me,” Sherlock stopped walking and John paused to look back at him. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. I’m not going anywhere. Come here,” he said and invited John to him with his arm outstretched.

John grabbed his hand and Sherlock pulled him in for a hug. A firm, warm, comforting hug.

“I love you, John. I will always love you, and I’m happy to wait. You take your time,” he said, and it was all John needed to hear and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone interested in the Ravel, I was inspired by this piece  
> Ravel's Vocalise-étude en forme de Habanera: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dCJp9t3pIw


	34. Sarah

John placed the bunch of flowers on the grave.

SARAH JANE MILLER

"I’m so sorry Sarah," John whispered. They stood in silence for a while. Sherlock held his hand gently in support.

"Tell me about her," John finally said.

"She was beautiful and kind and too good for this world. She was brilliant at science like us. And she loved you more than you loved her." He let go of John's hand, unsure. As if it mocked her from her grave, somehow, standing there like that together. "It was a bad situation and some very bad decisions were made in the heat of the moment that lead to a tragic end. I’m sorry for my part in it. I wasn’t in my right mind."

John looked at Sherlock and grabbed his hand again confidently. "I think _none_ of us were."

"If I could go back in time and fix it … well I’m not even sure I could have changed anything. I loved you. Fiercely. And I didn’t want to let you go. Maybe it wasn't healthy. And maybe my actions were rash that night. But I don’t regret fighting for you."

John looked at Sherlock and gave him a gentle smile.

"I regret that it ended her life, though. She didn’t deserve that," he said honestly.

"No. Quite right," John agreed. "Let’s go home, Sherlock." He squeezed Sherlock’s hand and they turned to walk away from the grave.

"I love you," Sherlock said, kissing the side of his head.

"I know." John smiled to himself. He was still working on things. He knew Sherlock meant the world to him, but he would only say those words when he was back to himself. When he knew it fully in his heart. Sherlock knew that.

As they reached the curb, a large black limousine pulled up alongside them.

"Mycroft," Sherlock let out on an exasperated sigh, which John thought made it sound like a swear word. He couldn't help the little half laugh that came out in response. They stood hand in hand beside the car, and the passenger door opened.

"It’s going to rain," Mycroft said to them looking out at the clouds through the open door. "I couldn’t let you get wet. Get in."

John was surprised at how friendly he seemed. He always gave off an air of smugness too, but he was much gentler than usual. They got in and shuffled awkwardly to sit facing Mycroft who sat opposite. John took in the smell of expensive leather seats and the fact that Sherlock's brother had a limousine. _Of course he did_. Mycroft must have sensed John's discomfort.

"Sarah’s family was well compensated, John. I just wanted you to know that. Her younger sister will be going to university, all expenses paid. Their debts all cleared. We made sure of that," he said proudly.

"Everything is always so neatly wrapped up with you isn’t it?" John said with slightly more acidity than he needed too. "She's still dead, though, in the end. They still lost their daughter."

The three of them sat for a moment, giving that truth the gravity it deserved.

"If only you could have foreseen the mess for us at our university," Sherlock let out finally, coming up with something good enough to one-up his brother.

"Foreseen?" Mycroft said surprised his brother hadn't already deduced, "I _ensured_ it."

"What?!" Sherlock and John both said in unison.

"Of _course_ I did," he replied in disbelief. "Did you think it was a _coincidence_ that you were in the same department? With the _same_ supervisor? Dorms on the same floor? Sherlock, be serious!" Mycroft mocked him. Oh, how Sherlock hated to be wrong. Especially to Mycroft.

"But you told me to _stay away_?!" he exclaimed woefully.

"You told us _both_ to stay away," John agreed.

"Quite emphatically," Sherlock countered.

"And I know you both very well," Mycroft said simply. "I knew neither of you could resist – you’ve always been so stubborn the _both of you_ ," he sighed. "When things hadn’t progressed, I thought it was time to … give it a little nudge. I knew you’d get there eventually." He gave a pinched smile; they could see he was enjoying this far too much.

"But my work …" Sherlock whined.

"Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock. That university was a hobby visit at best," Mycroft encouraged. "You deserve the best. And now things are out in the open, you can return to where you both deserve to be studying. Your town apartment is untouched and waiting," he said with finality.

"Mycroft …" Sherlock replied, unable to finish his thought, still taking it in. John sat, mouth unintentionally open, watching this odd back and forth take place. The information still not quite sinking in.

"Yes, alright, alright. No need to get _sentimental_ ," he said in almost disgust, "just say thank you and be on your way."

They both sat silently.

"Thank you? I guess," John said finally to fill in the awkwardness.

"I’m … speechless," Sherlock said, still processing.

"Brother, I may not say it often, but you are my blood. And I take care of my own. I can’t believe you would think my intentions were ever anything but the very best. For you and the man you love," he nodded at both of them, his mouth pinched as if it pained him to be kind.

The car pulled up and John found he recognised this place. He wasn't sure how. This was obviously the town apartment. The driver opened the passenger door for them, and Sherlock stepped out on to Baker Street. Through the opening John saw the door to the flat.

"Oh, look Sherlock, it's 221. Just like your dorm. Isn't that funny!" he exclaimed.

Both brothers made eye contact and smirked at each other. Sherlock had known his brother was behind the deliberate dorm choice, but of course John wouldn't remember enough to have picked up on it. He would still have much to piece together. And Sherlock would be there to help him. And so would Mycroft, it seemed. Sherlock was so very taken aback by his brother's silent support from the background. For a moment his heart swelled at how much support he now had around him that he had spent so long thinking was not there.

John stopped before stepping out of the car and put his hand on Mycroft’s hands clasped on his lap. Mycroft’s eyebrows raised almost as high as his receding hairline at the contact.

"Thank you, Mycroft. Really." He was genuine and while Mycroft struggled to enjoy physical contact and anything that sentimental, he felt a slight lift in his mood, knowing his brother had John back in his life.

He reached into his pocket in reply and handed John a small business card. "I have made arrangements for you to see this therapist. She is the very best. It's already been covered. Just call to make a time." And then he handed John a black USB stick. John moved it around in his palm for a moment before looking up at Mycroft, confused.

“Your blog files. From before the accident."

John looked at Mycroft and grinned broadly, freely.

"Take care of him John,” Mycroft said with a look of gentle warning.

John stepped out of the car as Mycroft nodded and the door was closed between them.

"Absolutely," he said under his breath. More to himself than to Mycroft.

But Mycroft already knew.


	35. Three Little Words

John nervously waited for the USB to load onto his laptop and finally, there they were. So many files. His old blog. He was excited and terrified of what he would find, so he picked one at random and clicked it to open.

_Blog – Sherlock_

_He loves me. Sherlock Holmes loves me. All this time we have been friends and I have had … feelings I couldn’t explain about him. No idea what was going on inside me. For so long now._

_Poor Sarah. I’ve tried so hard to make things work with her. And I could probably go on for years with her pretending quite happily. She is lovely. My parents love her and have visions of weddings and grandchildren._

_But he loves me._

_Tonight, we were in the library studying together and I tried so hard not to look at him that way. Tried not to get those feelings when our hands accidentally brushed as we shared books between us. But every time, my pulse would race, and I would hang on his every word. I knew something had to be there. He always looks at me this certain way and I thought, I hoped it could mean he felt the same way, but we are best friends. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't bear it if I told him and he hated me for it._

_As we left the library, a huge storm hit and we were forced to run for cover, protecting the library books under our coats as we ran and laughed … and then … and then he looked at me that way again, as we stood there wet and catching our breath waiting out the storm. He just looked at me and I knew. I brushed his curls gently off his face and … then I kissed him. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before and I hope I don’t have to kiss another soul again, because I want to kiss Sherlock Holmes forever and no one else. And then he told me he loved me. He said those words._

_My best friend. My soul mate. He loves me and I know he is the only one for me._

John smiled to himself, shaking his head. Filled with such love and promise. He could feel it in his heart. He knew they were going to be okay. Just reading that, he could already feel his heart filling.

Sherlock walked up behind him and placed a cup of tea beside his laptop, giving him a kiss on his head as he stood back up, his own tea in his hands.

"Everything okay?" he asked gently, as he placed a hand on John's shoulder in reassurance.

"Yep. I'm going to be okay," John said, nodding, thinking.

Sherlock smiled and started to walk to his chair, ready to drink his tea and give John some space.

"Sherlock?" he asked, to get his attention back.

"Mmmm?" Sherlock hummed in answer.

"I love you." Just like that, John finally knew it to be true.

Sherlock smiled. John smiled back and then returned to his blog to pick another file.

_Yes. They were going to be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading. This one has been a mammoth challenge to try and sustain a story for a longer stretch at this level. For a personal writing challenge.
> 
> Once again, massive thank you to KAT, my super hero supporter, encouraging me all along.  
> And Janet - my fabulous supportive BFF  
> And to Charlotte - I don't know who you are, but thanks for pushing me in the right direction for this one, after your comment on another fic!
> 
> Read on in the sequel - FINDING JOHN

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shoutout and thank you to the amazing Anke Eissmann (@Khorazir) for the stunning artwork you saw in Chapter 28. She has captured the heart and soul of this whole work in one stunning image and I will forever be grateful. Anke - THANK YOU


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